Meet My Mate
by MiLa63
Summary: Sherlock and Molly live in a politically changed world. One where women rule, and continuing the human race is the name of the game. Too bad Sherlock got roped into becoming Molly's mate, and they are stuck together until their third child. Will they learn to appreciate each other along the way? Or will they kill each other? Who knows? But I know it's Sherlolly!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, BBC. Just borrowing the characters.

* * *

 _Prologue_

Molly Hooper had her hands full. She had just picked up her mail in one hand with a bag of groceries in the other, along with her side messenger bag banging her hip as she answered her phone and put her key in the door to her apartment.

Her best friend, Mary Morstan, was calling. "Yes, 'lo?" A flustered Molly spoke into her cell poised between her shoulder and ear.

"Molly? Are you ok? What are you doing?"

"I just got back to my flat. One mo'," she responded while placing her groceries on her kitchen counter and slipped her bag off her body. "What's new?" Molly continued the conversation, sitting on her comfy couch. She filled through the skinny white envelopes telling her how much she owed for her electricity, etc. Molly rolled her eyes at a few credit card company applications as Mary went talking about her day. Suddenly, a thick, light green envelope caught Molly's attention. She gasped, dropping her other pieces of mail. _Please, not yet_ , she thought to herself.

"What?!" Mary exclaimed, worried.

.

.

.

"I..I've been called."

"Oh."

Molly stared at the rectangular death wish in her hands. The stamp of the Biological Urban Rejuvenation Administration in proud black letters curled around a vague picture of DNA. Molly told herself to breathe. She turned it over and ran her fingers under the flap. She remembered the day Mary received her envelope. They had just come back from lunch when Mary's life changed. The BURA sent Mary an indication that her group was called. Mary had finally been selected to pick out a husband, or reproductive mate.

After a biological plague that targeted females, the BURA was created to categorize the unmarried, straight, women who had the physical capabilities to bear children, and subsequently pair them with the most compatible males. Thankfully, Molly and many other people were able to maintain their pre-plague jobs. Mary told Molly that she had been able to choose from a selection of ten men who had been matched for both physical reproduction ability as well as personality. Molly's heart pounded as she remembered how awkward everything was the day Mary brought John Watson home. Well, John Morstan now. Thankfully, he fit into the nurse's life seamlessly as he was a doctor, who easily transferred to her clinic.

Molly smiled as she thought of the couple now. They were nearly inseparable. However, Molly's bottom lip hid behind her teeth as she worried about her own selection for mate. She looked down at the official-feeling paper in her hands.

The letter said exactly what Molly expected. Her group had been selected to choose their reproduction partners. Not all partners married, like Mary and John, but most did. Molly's heart jumped at the thought that this letter means she will have children soon. She looked around her one bedroom apartment in shock. Her pictures of her dead father, herself, and her cat littered the warm colored walls and mantelpiece. The soft meow from Molly's bedroom shook the young pathologist from her stupor.

Molly ran her hand down the bony back of her orange tabby. Feeling slightly soothed, Molly returned her attention to her phone. "Mary, what do I do?" She quietly asked.

A sigh came from the other end of the connection. "Move out."

* * *

A/N: I really wanted to write like a forced to be together trope along with an apocalypse setting. This is what resulted. Sorry about any biological misinformation or British Government hijacking. Making things up as I go along. It's more fun that way ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: see previous chapter.

A/N: So, this isn't really an end-of-the-world type fic, so most of the technology and economic structure is the same. The main difference is who holds the power. Fewer women = higher demand, which in modern society means more power. Feel free to disagree, but know that is the general set-up for this fic.

* * *

Molly wrung her hands together. She glanced to her right at the other women in the dark room. There were three women each had similar features to her own. Petite builds with dark hair stood with trepidation. One woman to Molly's left stood confidently. This light blonde woman was labeled as the most fertile out of all in attendance. Hence, she got first pick. All the females stood facing the back of a two-way mirror. The room on the mirror was lit brightly with ten chairs lined against the back wall.

 _Oh, dear. What if he doesn't like me? What if I don't like any of them? Will I even get a chance to talk to them? What if I stutter too much?_ Molly's turbulent thoughts consumed her.

Molly sucked in a breath as the male guard spoke into the wall radio, "Bring 'em in."

Ten men walked in front of the chairs and sat. Each wore only a pair of black shorts and a painted number of their bare chests. The first three had short brown hair and varying color eyes. Molly attempted to mentally catalog the rest when, suddenly, she felt as if she was lit on fire. He was tall. Much taller than the others in the room. His hair was a mass of striking black curls. Molly felt her chest constrict at the sight of his crystalline blue eyes. His countenance was one of extreme boredom, with a twinge of annoyance. His cheekbones seemed to reach toward the overhead lights.

Molly tried to swallow her nerves at how handsome number 7 was. He looked like a model. Even knowing he couldn't see her, she blushed shyly. _The blonde will certainly choose him first. He's too handsome to escape the others' notice_.

After all the potential reproduction mates were seated, the guards inside the lit room started with the questioning. At each candidate's turn, the man would stand, spin in a circle, and then proceed to answer basic questions like age, occupation, and ideal wife.

Molly practically held her breath as the reached number 7. He stoic expression remained as he answered that he was 35, the only consulting detective in the world, and did not want a wife. The guard looked taken back at his last answer, and so asked to clarify.

"You mean, you don't have to marry your mate? Or you don't swing that way, because you were supposed to have answered those kinds of questions truthfully before this."

The gorgeous specimen shook his head. "I am married to my work. Therefore, I have no need for a woman, mate, or wife."

The disdain so clearly laced throughout his speech was like a nail in his coffin. The other women in the room gave a slight gasp at the outrageous nature of the statement. The blonde next to her mumbled, "No wonder a fit boffin detective like that is still waitin' to be picked. He's a total git."

Molly scoffed under her breath. _Well, of course he is! Wouldn't you after being presented like the prized pig at an auction, stripped down to your pants?!_

Molly could only shake her head at the audacity of this woman who thought so highly of herself. Finally they reached the last man, his red hair was matted to his forehead, giving him a greasy look.

The guard in the women's room turned and said, "Well, ladies if you need some time to think, that's alright. You can give me a question to ask one of the gents if you need to. Otherwise, we'll start right down the line pickin' two men per lady. You'll head to your room with 'em, and then make your final pick."

The blonde woman immediately made her choice, picking the only blonde in the group and a blonde-brunette. Molly was stunned. _My turn. Should I pick this consulting detective?_ Her heart raced at the thought of meeting him.

"I'd like to ask number 7 a question." Molly panicked. Why did I say that?

"Alright, what is it?"

Molly took a deep breath. "Why don't you want a wife?" _Even if he didn't_ need _one didn't mean he couldn't still_ want _a companion in life._

The guard repeated the question into the microphone.

The man stood and answered, "As I previously stated, I am married to my work. Anything else is merely a distraction." His deep rumbling voice shook Molly to her core. "Caring is not an advantage."

A distraction. As he had spoke, Molly's depressed gaze gradually fell to the floor. At his last sentence, Molly's eyes flew to his. _How could he think that? Sometimes, yes, it can be distracting or whatnot, but caring about something can make you more determined as well._ Molly's fury with the man's generalization burst to life. _I'll show him_ , she thought. _I'll show him how caring can be an advantage._

"I pick him," she stated with a steely tone.

Thinking herself triumphant, she smiled. "Who else?" the guard asked. Molly's shockingly remembered she needed to pick two men. Her heart raced at the reminder. _How have I not been paying attention?! Who else should I pick?_ She fleetingly glanced between the remaining men. The man numbered ten, the greasy-looking one, rose his gaze to the mirror. He shivered, which caught Molly's attention.

"Number ten as well." She firmly decided.

* * *

Sherlock wished he had a gun. And his coat.

After being given his basic clothing, he had been led, along with a ruddy-looking man, into a couched room. The paintings on the wall and the colors were clearly intended to initiate conversation and reflect a level of calm clearly not contained within its inhabitants. After deducing everything he could about the room, he was bored. He had paced along all the walls, determining their exact length, and the likely layout of the other rooms adjacent to this one.

The other man sat on one of the two couches in the room, sweating and breathing through his mouth. Sherlock made sure to prevent any sort of conversation between them by immediately deducing the man and claiming him an idiot.

Sherlock was curious about this woman though. He had been chosen from the beginning, this being his fifth line-up, and no other woman had asked him a follow-up question. This was already starting to look up.

Sherlock thanked Mycroft, in his mind, for never being the one actually selected for the line-ups in the start of this entire process. However, in recent months, Mycroft had disappeared.

This caused absolute havoc to Sherlock's life, loathe as he was to admit it. Now, he was being paraded about for woman to ogle. Sherlock rolled his eyes. How superficial. Sherlock let out a frustrated groan. He needed to find Mycroft, not be in this silly room waiting for a silly girl.

As if he had called her, the silly girl entered the room. However, she was not how Sherlock predicted. She was wearing bagging tan slacks along with a bright flowery shirt, fit for a teenager. On her face was a medical mask and goggles, and she held a flashlight in one hand. She also wore blue latex gloves. Sherlock barely had time to notice her warm brown eyes, as taking a precursory glance around the room. She immediate darted over to the man sitting on the couch. She said hello, in a young and utterly cheerful voice, making Sherlock roll his eyes.

"Sir, I need you to open your mouth for me a mo'," she continued, placing a single gloved finger on his bottom lip.

The man did so, and said "Ah," as all peoples are trained to do so at the doctor's office.

The woman nodded, and used the other hand to open his eye wider. Sherlock could see in the soft lighting how the man's eyeball had a light orange tint to it.

She stood from her crouched position and told the man to stand as well. She dragged him to the door where she entered, knocking and explaining how the man needed to be sent to a hospital immediately.

From her general examination, Sherlock could easily deduce the non-contagious disease the man had, but the fact that the woman, in a different room, had noticed it slightly impressed him. He could tell she obviously worked in the medical field, and since the disease was a rare, genetic, and fatal once, she had experience with it and/or death.

Curiosity peaked, Sherlock went to sit on the opposite couch. The young woman came back in without any of the protective gear. Sherlock could tell from her hands that she was a pathologist and had recently been engaged. Her facial features gave little away, except for her already obvious cheery personality.

She sat opposite Sherlock as he deduced her. She seemed to make a few attempts at starting a conversation, but each time she shook her head slightly and closed her mouth.

"Sherlock."

"Hmm?" She met his gaze.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. I live in London, and do not intend to move. It seems I have become your mate by default. Very clever, picking a man who had slipped through the standard health examinations in order to place me in this position. I see you are a pathologist most likely working just outside of London, since I have never met you before, and you have been recently engaged. If you are intent on not being so again, as I have previously stated that if preferable to myself. My schedule is quite erratic and therefore, if you wish to fulfill the duties of the program, we will have to make our own plans. Adjustable of course, to my case load. I suggest we meet once a week for the first month, to insure a pregnancy, but if nothing comes of that, then increase to twice a week. Hopefully, we can move this program right along and won't need to see or speak to each other again."

The young woman sat stunned by Sherlock's diatribe.

"Molly, Molly Hooper," she quietly responded.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

A/N: Wow! Record views for me! Thank you so much! Please review! I don't really have everything all planned out, so a review might help me shape the story if you want! Also, I know both are a little OOC (when are they not?!) but the basic premise of the fic is that Misery loves company or some rubbish like that. Both are in a difficult situation and want to get out of it. Well, we'll see...

* * *

Molly unlocked the door to her new two bedroom flat. It was in London proper, and much more spacious than her previous one. Molly made sure it had a homey, comforting feel to in, evidenced by the warm colors and soft fabrics. The bookcase on the far wall was overflowing and Molly blushed lightly at the few romance novels sitting out in the open. She glanced towards her telly to ensure it was asleep before checking if she had left anything else out of its spot. She had hoped to tidy up a bit in preparation for this moment, but of course she was much too frazzled to think straight as she had rushed out of the flat in the morning. Before meeting Sherlock, Molly smiled slightly at the enigmatic name, Molly had spent the morning doing her own check-up and questionnaire for the agency to be sure she was still single and ripe for children.

 _If he knew so much about me from a glance what will he think of my place?_ Molly thought forlornly. She wrung her sweaty palms together.

* * *

 _Well, this is precisely what I expected,_ Sherlock thought. He categorized the smiling pictures of the young woman and her, most likely, deceased father. The immediate stench of tuna and cat litter alerted him to the presence of the feline. According to what Sherlock knew of this sweet, timid, intelligent, idealistic woman, her books and DVDs matched her personality. The overall atmosphere reflected her personal warmth as well.

 _Focus, need to get back to my flat._

Sherlock noted Molly's obvious anxiousness. "Miss Hooper," he allowed his deep timbre to disturb her nervous thoughts. "I intend to live in my own flat, however, I shall give you my number," he wrote his phone on a nearby pad of paper, "Please make yourself ready for my text by meeting me here. I think it would be better for all parties involved if we are to keep our required activities in this flat, rather than switching. I may also text you with any and all required items." With a nod, he turned to leave.

"Umm, Sherlock," her mousy voice stopped him.

"Hmm?"

"Don't you want to..." the hesitancy in her voice only agitated his patience.

"What?" he spoke somewhat harshly, to get her moving along.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" she sighed sweetly. "Its been a long day for both of us."

"No." He turned his head slightly in her direction. "I would prefer to keep this relationship professional, Miss Hooper. I suggest you do the same."

With that, he opened the door and left.

* * *

Molly heaved a sigh, as she collapsed onto her nearby couch. Taking out her phone, she put in Sherlock's number before dialing the number she knew by heart.

"Mary? I just got back."

The excited squeal of her best friend only made her stomach drop further. "Well?! How is he? What is he like? What does he look like? How did you choose?" She fired off her questions quickly.

Molly sighed into the phone. "He... His name is Sherlock Holmes. He's a consulting detective."

"Sherlock? How unique! Wait, a minute! Is he the man that's often int he papers? The Boffin Detective or whatnot?"

Molly was slightly taken back that the man was famous. "I suppose so," she stated hesitantly.

"Oh, Moooolly! What a catch! I've seen his pictures, he is truly hot!" Molly chuckled a little to herself, feeling her mood lighten.

Molly heard Mary's voice dull as she turned from the phone, "Don't worry John, you are still the _most_ handsome!" Molly could imagine the smirk and wink Mary would often throw her husband. "Plus, he's going to be Molly's husband soon anyway!"

Molly felt her stomach drop once more. "A-Actually," she stuttered. "He doesn't want to get married."

The sudden and large gasp from the phone, startled Molly from her seat.

"Molly. What?!" Mary's shrieking, forced Molly to pull the device from her ear.

She took a deep breath. _Mary is always talking about how she just wants me to be happy, married. I know she's just as disappointed as I am at his unwillingness to have a real relationship with me. Maybe she'll have an idea on how I can help Sherlock open up more._

"Mary," Molly interrupted Mary's shocked ranting. "He said 'Caring isn't an advantage,' and I just really wanted to help him, Mary. He doesn't seem like he knows how love can motivate and give strength." She paused, chewing on her bottom lip. "I just want to show him how love can help him. Will you help me help him?"

Mary's frustrated mumbling caused a tiny chuckle emit from Molly's pursed mouth.

Finally, Mary heaved an "Alright." "Well, the first thing we need to do is a dinner party."

"A dinner party?" Molly repeated, shocked.

"Yea, we'll invite both the men and give them the chance to chit chat about marriage, and whatnot. Just relax, I'll work it all out. Trust me."

Molly shook her head back and forth silently. _Oh Mary, you are a whirlwind._

"Alright, I'll text him. Let me know when. He said his schedule is erratic," she worriedly responded.

* * *

As Sherlock settled into his leather chair at 221B Baker Street, he smiled contentedly. He made sure to arrange with his new... partner a method within which he could maintain normality while meeting the standards of this new program. All the while, he could continue his search for his brother.

The phone's ringing tone diverted Sherlock's attention away from the tempest of his mind. Lestrade.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Double homicide, the boys think a murder-suicide."

"And?"

"Well, one was shot and the other stabbed. So far, we've only found the gun. Also, waiting to hear back from the lab, but one had this rash thing that does not look normal. Might be a poisoning as well."

"Hmm. St. Barts?"

"Yup."

"Meet you in twenty." As he hung up, Sherlock's excited countenance grew. _A double homicide! What joy!_

He hailed a black cab and was at St. Bartholomew's Hospital in fifteen minutes.

He slammed through the double doors to the morgue, hardly containing his glee about a new case. He froze on the spot when he saw who stood behind the pair of bodies. Her wide chocolate eyes caught his in surprise.

"Sherlock!" her high, light voice filled the room.

The sound of banging doors behind him, caused Sherlock to turn slightly. All sounds were dulled by the blood rushing through his ears.

"Oh, Sherlock, this is the new pathologist who just joined us. Moved closer to be with her new mate, she said. Isn't that romantic?" Lestrade's smarmy grin made Sherlock clench his fists.

Sherlock allowed a tight, "Indeed" to pass through his locked jaw.

"Sherlock, meet, Doctor-"

Sherlock couldn't stop himself from interrupting, "Molly, Molly Hooper."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

A/N: Hope this chapter gives you a better understanding of where Molly is right now. Also, setting thisin up for the next chapter. So excited by the response I'm getting from this fic! Thank you all!

* * *

Molly looked at Sherlock's burning aquamarine gaze and then turned to Inspector Lestrade's blinding straight smile. She swallowed in nervousness. _Why is Sherlock mad? I moved here and everything before I chose him. I knew central London would be more accessible to my new mate._

"Yes, Lestrade. Quite convenient for her. And her new mate," Sherlock's tight voice filled the silent room.

"Oh, do you two know each other then?" the detective asked, glancing between the two others.

Molly laughed awkwardly. "Umm, well. Not really, Inspector. I bumped into him before that's all." Molly looked at the floor.

Lestrade turned and him the taller man on the arm. "You, git! What did you say to her to make her scared of you!? Mike said she's the best pathologist he's ever seen, and already you frighten the poor girl off!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes elegantly. "I did nothing to frighten her off, George."

Molly shook her head vigorously. "Oh, no. Not to worry, Inspector. Really, I just.. I'm shy." She almost whispered.

Lestrade stood another moment, glancing between the figures. Still dubious, he stated hesitantly, "Well, alright. As long as you two can work together."

Molly nodded. "Of course, Detective, we are professionals after all." She shot the graying man a small smile.

With that, the matter seemed settled, and the three professionals went about their work. Molly was fascinated by the hyperactive dialogue of her new mate. He seemed to spew forth intelligence like a water fountain. It was refreshing and slightly scary to always feel two steps behind him.

* * *

"Sh-Sherlock," a quiet voice stuttered as he turned to leave.

"Hmm?" He dared not meet her pleading open gaze, as he knew it would wear him down.

Working with Molly was like working with a fresh, sweet breeze on your back. She offered up support to him like no other, connecting threads of thoughts he knew Lestrade had long lost. She handed him tools as he needed, predicting his movements in milliseconds. Her shining eyes and glittering smile made Sherlock's stomach do funny things. The unwavering awe and belief she felt shone through her expressive face. It startled Sherlock sometimes to catch her eye and feel that steel strength bathed in sunlight.

Shaking his head slightly, he turned to attempt to hear his new mate better.

"W-W-Well, my dear friend, Mary is planning on having a small dinner party tomorrow night. Do you... do you think you'll be able to come to? I'd really like for you to meet her, oh! And John too!" At the mention of the man's name, Sherlock's insides burned. _Who is this John and why is she so excited by him?_ Sherlock wondered.

Sherlock heard the brunette mumble, "especially John." The burning lava that settled at the bottom of Sherlock's stomach turned to flames.

"I cannot be sure I will solve this case in time. If I can interrupt your dinner with your John, I will." Sherlock couldn't resist slight sneering at that man's name.

Sherlock missed Molly's surprised face as he bolted out the double doors to the morgue.

Sherlock's mind tumbled over and within itself. This calculating woman who first tricked him into becoming a mate then maneuvered her way into his sanctuary away from home. She was attempting to manipulate him into thinking she was an aid to him in his work. And now, the audacity! Jealousy! How _human_ a feeling to inspire in him! Sherlock would attend this dinner, indeed. He would go and show his little mate just how NOT jealous he was! They weren't married by any means, so Molly could easily do her best to procreate with a less suitable male. See if he cared!

Sherlock growled lowly as he caught up to the biochemist he was following. The biochemist who was the only one with the kind of bacteria in his experimental lab to create that rash on the deceased.

After snooping around the biochemist's flat and lab without finding anything of use, Sherlock slumped into his leather chair at Baker Street.

He glanced at his phone. Molly had texted him earlier the time and place for the dinner party. He uncharacteristically shrugged, feeling unease from the petulant turbulence within himself.

He heaved a great sigh and changed his shirt to his favorite aubergine button-down.

Thirty minutes later, Sherlock found himself on a pleasant front porch. The color of the house was a pale grey and the porch contained a number of bright fragrant flowers. He pressed his long digit to the circle doorbell.

The one woman he loathed to see after their previous encounter answered.

"Oh, Sherlock! I'm so glad you've come!" She ushered the tall man inside, warmth instantly surrounding him. Gesturing to a short-haired blonde woman, she said, "Here's Mary, my good friend from Uni. She's a nurse now."

Sherlock nodded. "Indeed, and expecting it seems. Congratulations. Who is the lucky man?"

Molly gasped in surprise. Going over to the wife and mother, Molly smacked her on the arm. "Mary, why didn't tell me!" However, throughout the entire action, the young woman wore a small, delighted smile.

Sherlock's confusion over his petite mate grew. Most other people when pointed out something by Sherlock turned fury or shock or annoyance to him. Instead, Molly seemed to take everything in stride.

The two woman conversed while Sherlock cataloged the parlor. Delicate figurines of angels and kittens decorated the area, falling into line with Sherlock's observation of Mary's obsessive and dark nature. A need to have the painfully idealistic version of good and innocent surrounding her.

Sherlock was shaken from his mental tirade when he heard Molly's sweet, high voice exclaim, "Oh, John, come meet Sherlock!"

He looked over to his mate to see her dragging a man of slightly greater height than the woman herself. He had clipped ashen blonde locks, which complimented his sky blue eyes. He put forth his calloused hand, saying, "John Morstan, nice to meet you."

"Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

AN: First clue into Mycroft's situation! Hehe, *rubs hands together evilly* *manical laugh* Also, I LOVE LOVE LOVE your reviews! Tell me what I'm doing right or even totally wrong! I appreciate any insight you may have!

Thank you to everyone who has already reviewed! Sorry this chapter has very little sherlolly, just wanted to give you some more background and setting the stage type thingies...

* * *

Molly beamed. John seemed to be getting along with Sherlock as if they were brothers. Granted, they weren't exactly talking about the BURA program and their roles in it, but getting along was getting along. _Hopefully he's at least found a friend,_ Molly pondered.

Molly's thoughts turned to her dear friend's situation. A child. A baby. Molly's heart grew in joy and excitement. One day, she would be in the same position, but with Sherlock's child. A small happy smile fit across Molly's lips. Sherlock's and her baby. Oh! Molly could just picture the curly raven hair and big brown eyes. He would be the most intelligent child in the bunch! Hopefully he would have the same deep timbre of the man himself.

The two couples finally sat down for the dinner. Mashed potatoes, steamed carrots, and steaks were passed around the table. Molly laughed at Mary's ravenous style eating. "Eatin' for two, darling!" she winked and continued.

* * *

Mycroft was in hell. Not literally, but adapting Sherlock's penchant for exaggeration, Mycroft's life at that moment very easily fit the description. He was in a small room, one little window as the only indication of time of day, depending on the placement of the light. Mycroft deduced that they were in an abandoned farm near the Cambridgeshire countryside, miles from any other civilization.

He subtly appreciated the thought and effort put into his own abduction and placement.

* * *

Sherlock was surprised. The man named John turned out to be an interesting creature. John's eyes would widen in fascination at each deduction Sherlock poured out, at times exclaiming, "Fascinating!" or "Magnificent!" Sherlock smiled inwardly at the dullness of John's mind, yet both he and Mary were in the medical field. Both seemed to possess and above average intelligence, but their quick wit were nothing in the face of Sherlock's lightening thoughts. Sherlock pondered Molly's intelligence in comparison. Mary and Molly each had their own type of deeper sense. Mary seemed to be able to read people's logic almost as thoroughly as Sherlock, just not in the same time span. After spending the majority of the day with Molly, Sherlock realized that while his little mate certainly had the knowledge to do a thorough job, she also seemed to have some greater insight into the human psyche, the feeling aspect of humanity. She could commiserate with John's frustration at there being a lack of good telly, she shared the joy of Mary's new child, and she accepted Sherlock's need to remain silent and observant throughout, not pushing him to mingle with the others in the group. When he did speak up, Molly's eyes looked at him as if he hung the stars at night. So much adoration from such a tiny body.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Well, it is late. I should be going," he stated, not even bothering to glance at the hanging wooden clock.

Molly jumped up from her seat a moment after he did. "Wait, Sherlock! I wanted to talk to you about our...," she glanced behind her to the suddenly quiet couple, "our arrangement," she whispered.

Sherlock nodded. The uncomfortable moment had come. "Yes, I had no plans to start the arrangement this week. However, you are correct. We should begin as soon as possible. I should be done with this case over the next few days. I shall text you," he picked his phone from his pocket in a pitiful attempt to avoid his mate's piercing gaze.

"No. Sherlock. I mean," she bit her lip hesitantly. Sherlock couldn't look away. The content feeling that had settled in his bones over dinner suddenly felt hot and heavy. "I mean, I wanted to change our arrangement. I'm not sure anymore."

Sherlock tilted his head in confusion. "Not sure of what, Molly?"

"Not sure this is for the best. I mean what happens after the child is born? Will we still live apart? Who will raise him or her?" Her wide questioning eyes, melted a little of something in Sherlock. He eyes took on a distant haze as he unintentionally imagined a little tike running through the hallways of 221B. Childish giggling took over Sherlock's mind. The child. A real little human being.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I will text you a time, and we will meet to discuss the details." He turned quickly, letting his long coat create a flourish at his exit.

* * *

Molly sat back down at the table with Mary and John.

"Well?" Mary asked expectantly.

John placed his hand on Mary's. "Dear, let her."

Molly forced a small smile. "I brought it up, and we'll talk about." She nodded reinforcing her own decision.

The next day, Lestrade came by the morgue to grab some lab results. As he was standing, waiting for Molly to collate the paperwork, she asked him, "Greg, where is your mate? Or are you married?"

He chuckled slightly. "I was married when all the hubbub about the plague happened. However, since then, she decided I wasn't worth to keep when there was a whole flock of men wanted to be hers, so she left me. She got enrolled into the program under a different name, but she never actually divorced me." He laughed lowly. "That allowed me to stay out of the pool of potential mates. Which suited me just fine," he flashed his pearly whites. "I'm as free a man as I'm going to get in this mad world!" He laughed heartily at that.

Molly chuckled along as well. It definately was a new kind of world they lived in, and Molly hoped that any child of hers and Sherlock would grow up shrewd enough like Greg to be able to manipulate it in order to live happy and free.

She sighed at her depressing thoughts. _What made you think Sherlock would actually want to raise a child with you? You're so silly, Molly Hooper!_ She berated herself.

Molly left the lab a few hours later. She walked to her apartment in the dim evening light. Watching the play of the sunset across the sky and the smell of flowers nearby made Molly feel light and happy. The disappointment of the previous day had evaporated from her petite form.

The sweet smile on her face disappeared as she unlocked her front door and stepped into her flat. A group of five homeless-looking people stood around her entryway and kitchen, packing her things into boxes. Almost frozen with fear and shock, she propelled herself toward the small "Meow" emanating from under her couch.

"Toby! What's going on!?" She asked the room.

One of the women wrapped in a puffy marshmallow jacket turned to her. "Oh, we're here to help you move. Boss's orders."

Molly's breath left her. _Moving? I just moved_ here _!_

"Who is your boss?" Molly asked, despite the woman continuing to toss Molly's movies into a large brown moving bin.

"Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: see chapter one.

A/N: Thank you thank you so much you lovely people! I just love how a silly little idea has turned into much more..

* * *

Molly dropped her large messenger bag on Sherlock's hardwood floor with a clunk. Sherlock's cool, calculating eyes flitted to her burning amber ones.

"Sherlock," she spoke calmly, barely containing her fury. "Why am I moving, _again_?"

Sherlock stood gracefully, moving like the small animal hiding in his container in the center of the room. "You suggested this, did you not? You expected a more substantial relationship in order to actually raise future offspring, and as such living in two seperate places will hinder that development, yes?" He laced his hands in his typical thinking pose, while evaluating her response to his logic. _Why waste time, when I can tell this is clearly what you desired_.

She heaved a great sigh, before collapsing into the nearest seat.

"Sherlock," she spoke wearily. After a deep breath, for which Sherlock remained standing and waiting, she started once more. "Sherlock, I meant that I wanted to get to know you and you get to know me before we... we.. start..." She trailed of, clearly implying what they both knew would happen eventually.

"Well, this new and improved arrangement will allow that." He confidently replied, returning to his leather chair.

Molly shook her head slowly. "Also, why is it that I have to move in here?! I specifically bought that recent flat for preparing for children! It had four bedrooms, Sherlock!"

Sherlock slowly smiled, he knew it was his victoriously eerie grin. "Your new landlord owed me a favor. Therefore, it was easier to get you out. Baker Street has plenty of space as well. Come, we'll have Mrs. Hudson give you the grand tour." He gestured to the stairwell where Molly entered.

After a minute of the two of them staring in silence at the stairs, Molly turned once more to Sherlock. "I don't think she's coming, just because you mentioned her name, Sherlock."

Sherlock's inner ire grew at the monotone speech of his mate. "Well, as the saying goes, if you one want something done right, get a Holmes to do it." He smirked slightly as he stood. He gestured plainly to the kitchen area. "Makeshift Lab. Most of the time where I conduct my experiments. At the moment, do NOT use the microwave. Some toes are incubating." Molly nodded solemnly. He pointed to the room at the end of the hall. "My room and the room next to it is the bathroom. The tub is currently a reddish hue. Nothing to be concerned about at the moment. And all my self-care products are prohibited from use."

He took a few steps forward, pointing up. "Your room. Mrs. Hudson made sure to dust it all out yesterday. I believe she put new sheets on the bed up there as well. Hmm. Might want to double check that. Also, a bathroom upstairs, for your self-care products, if you have any." He glanced around him. "Living room." He shrugged and went back to his seat, "Grand tour complete."

He closed his eyes, putting his hands in place for his mind palace excursion. "When was your last period, Molly? It would be helpful to know your ovulation schedule as then we could reduce the amount of tries necessary for child #1."

Sherlock heard a slight shuffle as she repositioned herself on the sofa. "W-w-well, actually," he could almost hear her blushing, "I was sent a package to help with that. They sent me a laminated schedule and everything." Her nervous chuckle filled the space between them.

"Lime green, approximately the size and weight of the average hardback book?"

"Mmh-hmm," she murmured, no doubt examining the parlor's artifacts surrounding her. Sherlock opened one eye. Her wide pupils darted from the headphone-wearing moose head to the skull on the mnatelplace. A few book titles caught her attention halfway through as well, quite possibly recognizing a few titles of the medical tomes. Her straight, off white teeth nibbled on her lower lip. Sherlock saw the movement as an indication as her nervousness and excitement. "Well, it is getting late, isn't it, Molly?" He asked pointedly after closing his eye. He tilted his head slightly in the direction of her new room. "Probably want to get settled, with your feline as well."

With the sound of Molly's surprised, "Oh, righteo," and her small feet on the stairwell, Sherlock retreated to his mind palace.

* * *

 _The first night living with Sherlock_ , Molly marveled. She was absolutely giddy with interest and curiosity. She put her boxed items away as neatly as she could in hopes of calming herself for sleep. Letting the frightened Toby out of his cage, she cooed and fed him some treats.

She laid in her soft new bed for two hours, fighting off the nightly chill with the one quilt on the bed, when she heard it. It had started off softly, giving a lullaby effect on Molly consciousness. Seemingly half dream and half reality, the sound continued to grow louder until Molly finally was able to define it. A violin.

 _He plays so beautifully_. Molly wore a secret smile at the thought. He seemed like the kind of man who would scoff at being called beautiful in any capacity.

Molly couldn't stand the muffled strings anymore and slipped on her house shoes and robe. After slowly opening the door, Molly made sure to shut Toby in securely. Tiptoeing down each wooden stair, her heart felt weightless. The sound was glorious, and the strength of the song poured into Molly the closer she got. The tune was a slow melody, not depressing but not cheerful either. Finally, she was able to see him.

He wore a dark blue robe, the light from the full moon streaming in through the open windows. His wild curls made his stature even more powerful. He played facing the windows, and each movement of his arm was like a gentle, delicate breeze. Molly slowly moved to the couch, hoping he would never stop.

As she settled in, drawing her legs underneath her, she wrapped herself even more securely in her thin bright yellow robe. She glanced back at the imposing and ethereal creature, only to hitch her breath. He had turned towards her with his eyes boring into hers. His arm's movement gradually came to a stop.

The two mates sat in silence, looking at each other. "What's it called?" Molly dared to shatter the peace between them.

"It doesn't have a name. I composed it." His gravelly voice seemed even worse than before, and the hint of pain in it made Molly's heart clench.

She took a deep breath. Confidently meeting his gaze, she said, "I think you should call it loneliness."

* * *

The next day, Sherlock started checking his experiments in the kitchen. He worried slightly that Molly would expect to use the kitchen as something other than it was set-up for, mainly science. Hence, why he made sure to go down to Mrs. Hudson's flat to encourage her to come up to meet Molly.

Anout five minutes after that last thought, the later woman in question blearily stepped down from her room upstairs. She wore the same obnoxiously peppy robe with a stitched cartoon duck on the front left side. She gave him a shy smile, no doubt embarrassed about unabashedly spying on him playing last night.

"Whoo hoo!" Came a cheerful voice from the lower stairwell. Molly's slow wandering around the kitchen stopped as she turned questioningly to Sherlock.

"Mrs. Hudson. The landlady/housekeeper," Sherlock informed her.

"Not your housekeeper dear, and oh!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, coming through the door and setting the tea and biscuits on the living room table. "Is this the lovely young woman who chose you Sherlock!? Well, isn't she delightful! I have to say," the older woman leaned in Molly direction, loudly whispering conspiratorially, "I am quite excited to have some little ones running around here. And with Sherlock as the father, well,-"

Sherlock interrupted, "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I am sure Molly would be eternally grateful to have whatever little insights you may have about my future children, but since she just woke up, she is most assuredly starving."

The older woman nodded, hair in a coiled bun yet still frazzled on the edges. "But of course, dears. Molly, is it?" She reached out her hand in greeting.

Molly nodded affirmatively, "Yes, Molly. Molly Hooper."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

A/N: Reviewing makes me write faster! ;)

* * *

There were two things Molly realized the first morning of her stay at Baker Street. The first was that Sherlock relied almost entirely on Mrs. Hurons to furnish any sort of sustenance besides and including tea. The second was that Sherlock's voice at night riveled his morning voice. His morning voice was like a crunchy dark chocolate waterfall that ticketed Molly's lower belly.

Molly shook her head, trying to refocus. She had the day off and intended to go shopping with Mary. After she got ready for the day, she returned to find Sherlock sitting in exactly the same spot. Chuckling slightly, she prepared to head out.

"Molly," he turned to face her. "You parted your hair differently today."

Her nerves bubbled to the surface as she wrapped her fingers around the delicate plait. "Yes, well-"

"No, I like it. It suits you. In fact," he started as he stood looking her up and down. "May I have a piece of it?" He paused looking at her shock still face. "Or some blood will do."

* * *

Lestrade stood in the living room, pacing. This was worse than the vaguely floral scent wafting from Molly's presence in Sherlock's flat.

He twitched his nose at the reminder. "Well, what is it, Serlock? I 'aven't got all day," the grey-haired inspector inquired.

"Mm.. The couple was unaware. They did not know the bleeding, turquoise-hued rash was the result of the biochemist's experimental drug. However, their connection to the doctor scientist is in and of itself a mystery." Sherlock stood to look over the table of evidence Lestrade brought over.

"Yeah, well, the weapons are also missing Sherlock. Do you have any idea where they might be? Might give us a clue..." The detective inspector trailed off as he realized Sherlock was typing away on a new computer. Lestrade's brow wrinkled in confusion as he saw a small cat sticker on the edge of the top. "Sherlock... Is this your laptop?"

Sherlock continued to ignore the inspector. At that moment, Mrs. Hudson arrived from the lower level with tea. "Oh, hello Inspector. How are you today? Tea?"

"Who's laptop is this?" Lestrade stated, still too stunned at the overtly girlish sticker he found to make adequate small talk.

"Oh, it's that lovely girl, Molly Hooper's actually. Sherlock was so kind as to let her stay here while they figure out their little arrangement."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the older lady's euphemism. "She's my mate, Mrs. Hudson. No need to tread on eggshells around her or the inspector. He woud've found out soon enough."

"Your mate!? Sherlock! Really? Bloody 'ell, really?" Lestrade brought his hand to his forward to make a small smacking noise. "Wow. Bloody 'ell. No wonder. Really, you two are both too morbid for your own good."

The sound of a rich chuckle filled the flat. Sherlock glared at the womanizing inspector. "What are you chuckling about?"

"Oh. It's just it all makes sense, really. The way you two worked together in the lab. I can see why she picked you."

Sherlock scoffed before going back to his internet search.

* * *

Molly arrived home, humming. She had rationalized the situation and realized that it may have not been ideal, but Sherlock was trying. He let her move in, agreed, implicitly, to raise any children together, and was letting Molly get to know him a bit. He was a mystery wrapped in an enigma inside a labyrinth, yet he had played the most beautiful song on his violin. Also, he was letting her help him with a few of his home experiments.

Overall, it was going well. If nothing else, they would be good friends who just happen to have a child together.

After setting down her bag, Molly looked around the living room. It was empty. Curious, she treated to the kitchen. There, Sherlock sat behind his microscope looking at the charts Molly had made regarding her menstrual cycle.

"Sherlock?" Molly cautiously asked.

"Hmm..?"

"What are you doing?"

He set down the laminated calendar. "I was using the hair and blood sample you gave me to aid in making this chart of yours as detailed as possible. Also, I was able to look into your genetics, to be aware of any history of diseases. Thankfully, we are both clean and clear of any major impediments. However, your chart is slightly off, Molly."

"What?"

"Yes, you see you are three days behind your true biological clock."

"And, what does that mean?" She asked, walking around the table.

"It means," he said, clear blue gaze meeting hers, "you start ovulating tomorrow."

"Oh."

"I'll get the necessities."

"Necessities?!" Molly called to his retreating figure.

* * *

Mycroft wiped his eyes as he grew weary from his day of reading. His captors had finally allowed him some drivel to read as he continued his mind-numbing boredom.

He picked at the crust of bread on the table beside him. Anything would've been better than his daily diet of bread, cheese, and fruit. Sherlock would probably scold him for losing the three most recent pounds he had put on, as an attempt to allow him room for more fairy cakes.

The cast-iron lock outside his door creaked loudly, signifying his captor's entrance. So far, he had only the glimpse of a pale hand painted a deep, rich, crimson color as it handed him his food and books through a latch in the door. He had deduced a woman, due to the delicate bone structure and shape. Right handed.

He knew he had been abducted once the plague had died out. However, the drug used on him allowed him little memory of the abduction itself. He had wracked his large brain for any tiny detail to aid him in his gathering of information, but it all escaped him.

He turned over the book he had been lazily reading, placing it on the table next to his plate of stale bread.

The person who entered his cage surprised the older gentleman, but he forced his face to remain passive.

She sauntered into the room, wearing a wrap around dress of dark forest green. A pang of betrayal hit Mycroft as he examined her from her red-soled heels to her perfectly coiffed locks.

A small michevious smile graced her beautiful features. "Mycroft, fancy seeing you here."

Nearly breathless, Mycroft responded with the only thing he could. "Anthea, Anthea Scott."

* * *

A/N2: Sorry, I don't think her actual last name is mentioned. Took Andrew Scott's last name. Hehe. (Also, be warned, I am a Mythea shipper. It's happening. No need to fight it.)


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

A/N: First, I am so sorry! I really thought I could publish every few days, but that was soooo unrealistic. I apologize. So, in the future, I will probably publish every month at minimum. Second, I just want to let you know that this is a T fic. Hence, I will not go into detail of Sherlock and Molly's first time. Sex is a part of relationships, and this fic is about their relationship. However, this is not a smut fic. Sorry.

* * *

Molly looked at the closed eggshell door. She swallowed. Tonight. It was happening tonight. Every cell in her body was vibrating. She couldn't tell if it was nervousness or excitement.

Sherlock hadn't said much after declaring his announcement as to her cycle. She grabbed her teacup and sat in the comfy leather chair across from the fireplace. She smiled as she inhaled Sherlock's unique scent. Spices, tobacco, and the smallest hint of rubbing alcohol. She chuckled. He had been doing an experiment earlier. Her heart warmed at the thought.

She drank a sip of the bitter earl grey tea with a splash of sugar. _What materials did he say he needed? What could he possibly need?_ She shook her head. Part of her didn't want to wonder about the details, since it seemed Sherlock was happier being in control of the whole experience. The other part of her was dying to kiss longingly and sweetly the small juncture between his neck and chest that his shirt always exposed. She shivered. _Time to call Mary. Maybe she has some advice._

Dialing her dear friend's number, she heard a thump and a curse come from Sherlock's room. She shook her head again. _Best not to know_.

* * *

Sherlock pulled at his hair. He spun in his spot evaluating his room. There wasn't much to do about the wooden dresser or the dark rust-colored wooden bed. His clothes were only slightly strewn about the hardwood floor, which was easy enough to remedy. He debated turning the floor-length mirror to face the wall, considering Molly's propensity for over-critical self-evaluation. He decided instead to move the bed, so it did not face the mirror. As he was pushing the corner of it for the correct angle, he slipped on an old sock hidding underneath. He pushed the bed slightly too far due to his fall, and it hit the wall, causing a small indent. He cursed his bad luck. Shifting the bed once more, he did his best to cover up the damage.

That was when he heard it.

Molly's sweet, lilting voice was muffled through his door, but he heard the words clearly enough.

"Mary, Hi! How are you and the baby?" Some mumbled, "Oh!"s and "Awww"s filed the subsequent conversation. During which, Sherlock slid up and pressed his ear against his white wooden door.

"W-well, the reason I'm calling is. Well, tonight." He heard a large inhale and exhale. "Tonight is going to be my first night with Sherlock. For the program."

A pause. Sherlock nearly held his breath.

"Oh! I didn't even think to ask. So, no I don't know think it will be the _whole_ night." A short, bitter laugh. "That's not what I meant, Mary! I only mean we didn't talk about whether I would sleep there after. I suppose it's his room, so I should scurry back to mine for the rest of the night."

Sherlock felt something heavy drop down his chest cavity. It seemed they had both assumed Molly would literally sleep in his bed after the abominable act, yet now, Mary's interference has caused Molly to presume otherwise.

He knew going out there to correct the women would only create confusion, for all aprties, so he forced himself to remain eavesdropping. They had already continued to talk.

"He said he needed supplies. What do you think that means?" her hesitant voice questioned.

He almost chuckled at the resounding "Ohhhh," sound Molly made after a minute's break. He turned back to survey his room's readiness, when suddenly a small sob caught his attention.

"Mary, I-I know I shouldn't be, but..." Sherlock did in fact hold his breath at this point. "I'm scared, Mary."

"Of what?" Sherlock asked his empty room breathlessly.

"I'm scared that this won't work. That we won't work. That all this trouble and moving, and caring about this crazy man has been for nothing." The last word was stated in conjunction with another heartfelt sob, and Sherlock sunk to the floor in shock and misery.

He could see upon his first glance at the woman that she was sexually attracted to him. Otherwise why would she pick him. However, he could tell that the generally supervision procedure did not appeal to the intelligent pathologist. He also deduced that she did indeed want children. Her instinctual reaction to Mary's growing belly was obvious to that point. However, this was different.

Molly cared. About him. _How does you handle someone who cares about you?_ Sherlock couldn't help but ask himself. He never had this problem before.

* * *

Molly finished her conversation with Mary, full of reassurances that two adults could work out whatever problems they had (sexual or otherwise) and that Sherlock and Molly had been getting along marvelously since moving in together.

She sighed deeply, putting away her tea in the sink, still curious about the sounds coming from Sherlock's room. She decided to head up for a shower for her own preparations. Maybe if she started the "nightly activities" earlier than they woun't have to talk about acutal sleeping arrangements. Maybe it won't be so awkward.

Fourth minutes later, Molly stepped out of the shower. She had one or two scrapes on her legs from her razor, her hand shaking so much she nipped herself. She tried several calming breaths, but nothing ever really reached the crazy cats going tumbling wilding in her stomach. Speaking of cats, she decided to feed Toby sooner rather than later, in case she forgot.

As she decended the stairs, she heard the outer doorbell ring. "I'll get it!" She called to Sherlock. She rushed down the stairwell, careful not to fall and injury herself even more.

She opened the door to find a beautiful woman with slightly curly chestnut hair. Her lightly tanned skin stood out against the pale cream suit she wore. Molly felt small in her neon pink pajamas and bright yellow bathrobe.

Molly gasped at the slow and slightly michevious smirk the woman wore. "Who are you?" Molly asked the gleaming goddess.

"I'm with the BURA. Here, to do an inspection of your progress so far with your mate."

"Oh?" Molly asked, skeptical. "I thought inspections were only done after the first month. Why so soon?" She closed the door slightly to cover her state of undress.

"Well, we at BURA believe Mr. Holmes to be a special case. May I come in?" Her smooth, calculated tone threw Molly off as the woman gestured with her tightly held clipboard inside.

"Of course. My name is Molly, Sherlock's Mate. And you are?"

"Irene, Irene Adler."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

A/N: I'm soooo sorry! I probably won't be posting anything until April. I really want to finish this story, but I want to devote the appropriate amount of time to it as well. Again, I apologize to anyone who is still reading this!

* * *

Molly wrapped her ducky robe tighter around herself as she led the tall, graceful woman up the stairs. She trembled at the chill the woman brought in through the once open door.

"Sherlock, an inspector is here," Molly called throughout the flat. She cleared her throat. "I mean a BURA inspector. She wants to talk to us."

Molly heard a muffled surprised mumble, "She?!" come from the back of the flat.

Molly turned once more to the vision in white. "Would you like to sit?" She gestured vaguely to the couch behind the woman.

Irene started a slow smirk as she sat and crossed her legs primly. Her sharp aquamarine eyes gleaned everything from the small living room.

Molly wrung her hands, unable to stop her nervous habit. Sherlock had pointed it out to her a few days ago, but it made her even more nervous to try to stop it.

Irene filled the awkward silence as they each waited for Sherlock to appear. "Well, how are you enjoying your mate, Molly?"

Molly laughed brokenly. "Well, it is never boring," she glanced back at his bedroom door, "although, he might say differently."

The inspector adjusted her small handbag on the seat next to her. "What activities have you two been up to?" She asked, innocently.

Just as Molly opened her mouth to respond, Sherlock burst into the room. "Don't answer that, Molly Hooper. You have no obligation to submit ourselves to her scrutiny. Particularly because she is not BURA inspector. Indeed, all low-level BURA inspectors are male."

Molly gasped slightly, turning back to the mysterious woman. "Well, who exactly are you then?"

Sherlock again stole the breath from the guest, who now was standing in mock outrage. "Oh, Molly, dear. This woman is a snake. She finds the weakest point in her nemesis and she strikes venomously. She is actually..." Sherlock cleared his throat, turning to the fireplace, "an old friend."

"Not old by any means, Mr. Holmes, the younger. But thank you for the lovely comparison. I suppose that is better than a spider." She winked at his slight glance to her spot. Her previous smirk had returned in full force, and the shock she once displayed had jumped to Molly's countance in sincerity.

"You lied to me? For what reason?"

Irene stood and walked slowly around Molly's still form. "Would you have let me in, feeling threatened as you were, had I mentioned I was an old friend of your mates? Would you have jumped to conclusions like all dim-witted companions are?"

She chuckled lowly, with a rich timbre. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, please stop playing with you food. That is enough of that. Now, what brings you here?"

* * *

Sherlock listened with astonishment as Irene described the current situation with his brother. Having played games with the elder Holmes, Irene knew her way around Mycroft's associates. Typically, Sherlock would never utilize a stoplight hogging asset like Irene Adler, the Woman. However, as an unmarried and unmated woman, Irene desperately wandered the shadows of the government, an emeny of her own fair sex. This put her in the prime position for finding Mycroft.

She discovered through her contacts that Mycroft was abducted from his office at the Diogenes Club a week after the regime change due to the plague.

Where exactly he was taken was the one thing Irene could not find out.

Sherlock flickered his attention to the other occupant of the room. Molly. Her eyes were wide with fear and confusion. She had sat down after Irene started speaking, and now was wringing her pale, tiny fingers together. It make Sherlock feel a tick inside his chest when she did that.

He dismissed Irene with a wave of his hand. He picked up his violin to think. Irene mentioned that the newest regime's MI6 had been the ones to actually steal Mycroft physically. However, the really question for Sherlock was how Mycroft could almost disappear from thin air without a single minion of his worrying. No evidence at the scene, of course. Also, why was Molly's hair so reflective today? Was a different shampoo she used? Her scent hasn't changed.

The petite woman in question made a muffled cry from her seat on the dark couch. Sherlock shook himself from his distracted thoughts. He stopped playing the wooden sting instrument in his hands. Stepping closer, he saw her wipe at her eyes with the sleeve of her childish robe.

He heaved a sigh. "Why are you crying, Molly?"

"It's just so sad, Sherlock. You didn't tell me your big brother was missing." She paused, sniffling and looking around the room, "Actually, you never even told me you had a brother."

The tall man started up playing once more. "There is no need to sob, little mate. Mycroft is a dreadful bore, and merely causes trouble wherever he goes."

She stood, hands balled by her side. "Sherlock. Your brother is missing. We need to go try to find him!"

Sherlock sighed once more, heavily. Slowly, he put his beloved instrument down. "Molly," his azure pupils met her warm ones, "I am looking. However, I am being watched, so I cannot scour the streets as you are suggesting. If I should find his location, but those holding him realize so, then he will be moved and the process will begin again. Now, please go back up the stairs and finish getting ready for our appointment tonight."

Molly gasped slightly. "How could I forget? Uhh-B-b-b..." She returned to biting her bottom lip and wrestling her palms. Sherlock rolled his eyes once more.

He walked up to her position in the parlour. Grabbing her small hands gently in his large ones, his thumb stroked her dry nipped skin slowly. "Molly, go back up the stairs, put on the underthings you feel most confident and comfortable in, and come down to meet me. We need to continue this process quickly. Understand?" He nodded her head, hoping she would follow. Her melted chocolate orbs were overflowing with compassion and intensity. Sherlock felt another twinge of his chest.

After a minute of keeping the gaze of his mate, she nodded, so he let her hands fall to her sides once more. As she slowly stepped up the stairwell, Sherlock turned to the doorway. He shut and locked the door, hoping no more visitors intruded upon his time with his government-mandated mate.

* * *

Molly took two more deep breaths, in addition to the three she took after stepping into her room. She passed the floor-length mirror in her room. Turning to face it fully, she squinted, critically examining herself. She decided on the pair of black cotton nickers and soft black bra.

Molly turned slightly to the right, and then swiveled to the left. Her taunt skin was not unattractive, but her chest left much to be desired. She had made sure to shave her legs and... other areas in her shower, so she felt as smoothe and pristine as she could be.

Taking another deep breath, she pointed to herself through the mirror. "You are the mate of the most intelligent man on this earth. You are the youngest female pathologist in the UK. You.. You are Molly Holmes."

Molly squeaked, clasping her hands to her red cheeks.

She sighed, shaking her head in dismay.

"Oh, dear."

She took another deep breath.

"You are Molly, Molly HOOPER."


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

A/N: Ok, HERE we GO! Sexy times (sort of). Be gentle. Also, remember rated T.

* * *

Molly took five more deep breaths as she walked carefully from her room to Sherlock's. She tip toed down the hallway, fearful of breaking the still silence of the flat.

She finally faced the white paneled door. Her hand formed a fist, hovering over the painted wood.

The door swung open suddenly, causing Molly to take a few steps backwards. "Sherlock!" She exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes, of course. Were you expecting someone else? Bad form. Also, bad form waiting for the door to gain a mouth and swallow you up, Molly. I could practically hear your panicked thoughts from the other side." He took a step backwards, allowing his mate to pass by him. "Do not think I would not wish for the same. Neither of us care particularly for this process, especially with the inspector who will most likely be coming next week. Now, hurry up and get inside so that we may finish."

Molly nodded solemnly and scurried past the tall brooding man.

* * *

Sherlock lay examining his ceiling. He could hear the sounds of shower up the stairs. He sniffed and adjusted his sheets. His newly placed sheets. His sheets newly placed because of a certain activity. A certain activity that involved Molly. And Molly's body. And Molly's breaths, lips. And Molly's fluttering eyelashes. Molly's smooth thighs and calves wrapped around Sherlock's rough ones. Sherlock coughed and shifted once more. The images that had not left his mind since the previous night were bombarding his mental peace.

Sherlock was shocked as to how quickly the main event happened. He had expected difficulties on both ends. However, there was no difficulty, except in the beginning. Molly's nerves caused a slight delay, considering that Sherlock knew the best bet for a pregnancy involved Molly being completely relaxed. He discovered through trial and error that kissing produced a highly excitable and relaxed reaction in his mate.

Sherlock felt he learned the art of kissing last night. Kissing lips, kissing necks, shoulders, and milky white thighs. It was an experiment in kissing and it succeeded. They achieved their primary purpose, with minimal fumbling, and now Sherlock was perplexed. _If my experiment was such a success, why does it only cause dissatisfaction now?_

 _What happened last night?_

* * *

 _What happened last night?_ Molly found herself continually asking herself.

It started off amazingly well. Sherlock seemed to have the idea of how to loosen Molly up, but once the clothes came off, it was as if Molly felt doused in cold water. Considering it was frighteningly freezing in Sherlock's room, the phrase is particularly apt. Molly remembered Sherlock seeming to have a good time, but for Molly everything fell flat. Sherlock collapsed on the bed with a sigh, and Molly was left laying on his silken grey sheets with a thin veil of confusion. _That was IT?!_ She had headed off to bed with a slump in her shoulders and Sherlock's snores in her ears.

Molly shook her head as she sliced Mr. Vantrop's liver. Molly went to the store before work that morning to pick up a few pregnancy tests, just in case. It was unlikely, but Molly couldn't help but hold out hope. _While being with Sherlock wasn't what I expected,_ Molly figured, _it wasn't painful or scary. It was fine_.

Molly sighed. _Maybe that was the problem. I expected it to be more than fine. I expected it to be fantastic and earth-shattering._

The doors banged as they swung wildly open. Sherlock's crazy curls bounced as he sauntered into the morgue. Molly shook her head again at Sherlock's lovable antics. _At least, we can be friends through all this ordeal_. With a small smile she turned her attention to her mate.

"Molly," Sherlock greeted her.

"Sherlock," Molly returned, as Sherlock circled the body on the slab.

"Alcoholic," Sherlock stated with confidence. Molly nodded in agreement. He cleared his throat as he re-positioned himself to face her. "Last night -," he started.

"Went not exactly as expected," Molly interrupted, not desiring to hear Sherlock's minute assessment of their respective performances.

Sherlock hmmed. "Agreed. We will need a repeat performance," he stated in monotone.

Molly felt like a bobble-head with all her nodding. "Of course, Sherlock." She smiled at him, hoping to give him reassurance that she would do her part of the program.

Sherlock hmmed again.

With a flourish, he turned his great coat and whipped through the double doors.

* * *

"I need help." Sherlock never dared to imagine those words leaving his cupid bow lips.

The calm and wise voice on the other side of the conversation never wavered or laughed at Sherlock's ineptitude.

"I don't understand what went wrong for Molly," Sherlock stated, running his hands through his wild raven hair. He turned his aquamarine eyes to his conversation partner. "My part of the performance went exceedingly smoothly."

Mary laughed at the slight blush on the detective's cheeks. "Well, that may have been the problem. You focused too much on yourself. You have to make sure she feels as much pleasure during the whole experience as you do. You have to care about her. That's what being in a relationship means. It takes work. With John,-"

"Oh please, God, no. Stop." Sherlock interrupted, feeling the faint stirrings of deeply held disgust bubble its way up his throat.

Mary laughed again. "Don't worry, you delicate flower. I won't go into details. Just know that practice makes perfect. Figure out what she likes, both in the bedroom and out. Get closer to her, and she'll open up to you in return."

She winked as she stood to go to the bathroom, for the third time that afternoon.

As Sherlock sat for a moment stewing in the idea of caring for Molly, his phone chimed. Sherlock found a text from Lestrade which read, "Found the scientist. Heart attack. W Molly."

Sighing heavily, he left the Morstan apartment.

* * *

Anthea Scott had an above average intelligence. She could predict the movements of the great Mycroft Holmes with a grin and a flourish. It was easily why Mycroft chose her to be his assistant in the first place. Her education and her previous employer's recommendations suggested a level of competence and style that coincided well with Mycroft's unique needs for diplomacy, stealth, and secrecy.

Somehow, the idea that she would betray him, never entered his mind. Thinking back, Mycroft realized it most likely started the day they first met. He had been sure to not let word get out that he needed a new assistant. His office easily would be flooded by all sorts of spies and idiots had he made that information public, so he kept it mum.

He had been greeting an ambassador from the Spanish embassy at a dinner party when she sauntered in, clacking her forest green heels against the wooden floors. Anthea's swift movements in the shadows hid her presence even from the ever-observant Holmes. Only when he was reaching for a spot of tea did she made herself known. She handed him his tea, exactly how he liked it, lots of sugar and no cream, when he faced her. She smiled without showing her teeth, and stated in a demure tone, "Anthea Scott. Administrative Assistant, to the Spanish ambassador. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes."

At the time, Mycroft put his tea to his lips to taste, as his eyes roamed over her long tanned legs and lithe body. Immediately, he was impressed with her stealth and her observant nature. He could tell she was native Scottish, and she yearned to return to the U.K. despite her penchant for travel.

How Mycroft berated himself as he sat alone in his prison. He should have seen her dominant and manipulative nature. He should have seen how putting her in such a position would harm him. He scoffed aloud, filling the silence around him. Even so, it would have been a boon to his work. She would only have impressed him more with her ability to hide that part of herself.

Hence, why he essentially agreed to consider her for his assistant when he returned her greeting.

"Mycroft, Mycroft Holmes."


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

A/N: Hope you are enjoying it so far! Let me know if you think the introductory endings are getting cliched! I'm happy to change them. Getting more into the subplot/mystery here! Let me know if you are super confused!

* * *

Sherlock sniffed. The ghastly scent of formaldehyde, lemon, and musky stale cologne filled his large nostrils. Blinking, Sherlock turned sharply, swirling his long beloved coat around his long dark slack-covered legs. He pursed his cupid bow lips.

The puzzle in front of him was a man he had followed not two days before, and at present, lying on a slab, dead. It did not shock the conscience so much that the man was dead, but how was the mystery. No bullet hole or stab wounds. No wounds at all blemished the pristine body. Sherlock whipped out his tool bag, and whipped out the miniature magnifying glass. He examined the fingernails of the corpse, to find a fresh manicure. He took in the soft, lotion-ed skin. The cologne surrounding the unwashed body was expensive and made Sherlock's nose itch.

Sherlock sniffed again. Another perfume wafted from the man's thick coat.

Sherlock straightened himself as he put away his tools. "He was found in a large meat freezer, is that correct, Lestrade?" Turning his head slightly in the older man's direction, Sherlock caught the movement of his mate's lab coat.

"Yes," Molly replied, "and he was found with this mobile." She handed him a dark, rounded-edge phone inside a plastic Ziploc. "But, Lestrade discovered that it isn't his."

Just as Molly's light and little voice finished filling the room, the mobile rang.

Sherlock blinked, and taking the mobile out of the bag, answered it.

"Sherlock Holmes," a lovely female voice immediate said.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You knew I was following Dr. Zeigler and you killed him. Working for or against you then?"

The female laughed like a trickle of a forest waterfall. "Sherlock Holmes, when is it ever one or the other? However, I will tell you he died working against us. Hence, why he died."

Sherlock closed his eyes as he attempted to place the voice. It rang familiar in his mind, but the woman seemed to be slightly whispering. Her method of disguising her voice was working.

"And what is it you would like me to do for you? You wouldn't have put this cell on his body for any other reason."

"Clever, clever, Sherlock." A sound like a ripping of paper filled the silence. "There is one thing I need from you. I need you to find out who killed Mr. and Mrs. Rush. I can assure you, it wasn't a murder-suicide."

Sherlock nearly growled into the mobile. "I had a suspect, yet you took him from me!"

The light laughter arose once more. "Oh, Sherlock. Dr. Zeigler had no connection to Mr. and Mrs. Rush. Square one for you, I suppose. Ta ta."

With that, the line went dead.

* * *

Molly was surprised with the slight growl Sherlock emitted as he put down the black mobile. He frantically looked around the room, but Molly suspected he wasn't actually looking at the room. He seemed to be recalculating something in his mind.

"Bollocks," Lestrade said, as he picked up the useless phone. Lestrade kept pressing buttons on the phone in an attempt to find a clue.

After a few minutes of this, Molly decided she need a cuppa. When she returned, with a black, two sugars, Lestrade was gone and Sherlock was examining something under his new favorite microscope.

She sighed slightly at his return to "normalcy."

As she set down his dark mug, he turned to her. "Molly," he paused, taking a breath and meeting her curious gaze, "thank you."

Shocked at this sudden bout of sincerity, Molly could only stutter, "Y-y-your w-welcome."

She could see his rising chest underneath his suit. His shirt today was a pristine white, which matched his teeth. Each curl on his forehead seemed delicately placed as to optimize its catching of the overhead lighting. Molly internally sighed. _Where was this kind of chemistry last night?_

She cleared her throat and was about to make her way to her desk, when Sherlock grabbed her hand. He held her small wrist gently but firmly. "Molly," his deep timbre interrupted her distracting thoughts, "what are you doing tonight?"

Molly was out of her depth. So far, the Sherlock she had become accustomed to would already know what her plans were for a week night. Take-away, a movie or a book, and bed.

"Uh, t-the usual, Sherlock. Why?"

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" His sky-colored eyes twinkled. Molly felt her knees grow weak.

"Sure, Sherlock. Where would you like to meet?"

Sherlock gave a tiny smirk. "There is a lovely Italian place called Angelo's. Have you heard of it?"

* * *

John was perplexed. Well, not his usual perplexed. His "Mary is making me doing something and I have no idea why" type of perplexed. Usually with this type, he just shrugs and goes along with his dear mate. She was a sharp as a wit and loved to show off, but not at anyone else's expense. John figured that Mary never really did anything, just because. She always had a reason. And usually, that reason worked out for everyone involved. Well, most everyone.

John was sitting in a cab, next to the great Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. John wanted to smile at the thought that this man was now mated to the sweet, sensitive Molly Hooper. When the two came to dinner, all John could think was, _What a match!_

They both complemented the other beautifully, seamlessly. However, the reason why John was perplexed was essentially his conversation with Mary this morning, where Mary begged, practically forced John to meet Sherlock for coffee. She herself had have a lovely morning with the man just yesterday when John was working his shift at the clinic, and now it was his turn?

John stole a glance at the man. His long coat acted like a cloak and suit of armor, protecting the man from feelings, it seemed. This is because the moment Sherlock saw John, he just said, "Follow me. We are investigating a case, not having chatting away about sentiment over a caffeinated beverage, as what Mary hopes will happen. Although, it is obvious you would've chosen a decaffinated tea, seeing as you plan on sleeping early tonight."

It was obvious John was very impressed by the detective. They had just come from a crime scene Sherlock had inspected, where the dead scientist was found. In the first few seconds of entering the room, Sherlock realized the corpse had been moved there last night.

"Brilliant," John whispered, amazed.

Now, they were headed back to 221B Baker Street for Sherlock to test a substance he found there. John was slightly confused at to why Baker Street and not the morgue.

The cab was quiet, until Sherlock broke it. "What is the average usage of 'It's not you, it's me,'? It must imply something other than its literal meaning."

John turned to Sherlock, a look of confusion reflecting his inner state. "Well, Sherlock. Usually, it's used during a break-up. Somebody blames the failure of the relationship on themselves, as a way to perform the breaking of the partnership amicably. Why?"

Sherlock grumbled under his breath. "Breaking of the relationship."

John nodded. "Why, Sherlock? Who's broken up with you recently?" He asked when the cab had become silent once more.

The tall detective furiously growled, "Molly, Molly Hooper."

* * *

A/N2: I know! I skipped the Sherlolly dinner! Forgive me! I just wanted to devote a whole chapter to it! It shall come next time, I promise! Let me know what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

A/N: Finally, some Sherlolly! Sorry if I got Angelo wrong. I tried to remember from the first episode since I really don't own anything. Also, I broke my pattern! Gasp! I figured you could read this whole chapter as a flashback, so it didn't really need to fit the pattern. Make sense?

* * *

Molly looked around the restaurant. Thankfully, she had plenty of time to throw on a cute dress after her shift. The candles on each table gave the room a warmth and romantic atmosphere. Molly was just beginning to wonder the nature of this dinner when Sherlock grabbed her hand which was resting on the pristine white tablecloth.

"Molly," he rumbled, the sound coming out with the throaty scratchiness of suddenly disturbed sleep. It made Molly's stomach clench and her heart pound. _What does this man do to me?_

"I want to thank you for taking the time to meet with me." Molly eyed the other tables. Couples with dopey smiles on their faces sharing food, wine, and kisses. Molly's heart pounded a little more.

The feel of his calloused fingers rubbing circles on the back of her hand made her skin flush. She wanted to wring her hands in nervousness that she just knew Sherlock could see.

She swallowed her growing panic. "Yes, of course." _A few deep breaths, Molly Hooper. You can do this_. "Why _did_ you ask me out for dinner, Sherlock?

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in contemplation. "To get to know you, Molly," he said after a pause.

Molly nodded mindlessly. She felt overcome. She felt warm. She felt like this was a date.

Shaking herself a bit, she withdrew her hand from her mate's. "Thank you, Sherlock. I appreciate the effort. I would like to get to know you, as well."

Sherlock gave a single affirmative nod, as he turned his gaze to the glowing streetlamps in the dark skyline.

The two sat in silence for another minute until a slightly chubby Italian man rushed to their table. "Ahh, Sherlock! Wonderful to see you! Who is this _bella donna_?" He turned to Molly, and taking her hand in his, he placed a gentle kiss to the top. Molly giggled at the over-the-top gesture.

Sherlock growled, "My new mate. Molly, this is Angelo, the owner."

Angelo, startled, looked between the two. "Oh! _Come splendida_! A mate! Good, _Buon per te,_ Sherlock!" A wide grin spread across his face, showing his white teeth. "What can I get you then?" He said as he took out his white notepad and pen.

Molly looked back down at her menu on the table. As she opened her mouth to respond, Sherlock beat her to it. "My usual, and Molly would like a salad and soup. Specifically, the minestrone. Also, be sure to bring the best wine to pair that with, you know the one."

Molly was stunned at his quick response, annoyed at his presumptuous attitude, and grateful for not having to wade through the numerous options, all at the same time. "W-What?" she barely made out once Angelo had left their table.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well, normally, you would get the chicken fettuccine, but it is obvious by your posture and how you keep glancing around the restaurant that for whatever reason you are overly self-conscious. Therefore, you would want to order something that will fill you up, without seemingly like a pig, hence the salad. Also, minestrone is your favorite soup, as I have seen the remnants from it's packaging in the your office's trash. Same with the wine. Although, that was more of an observation from your previous apartment, since you have yet to consume wine at our apartment or otherwise."

Molly was torn between being appreciative and being even more self-conscious and nervous at having that pointed out to her. She glanced between Sherlock's engaging eyes and her napkin-covered lap. "Wow," she whispered to the floor. A sudden thought occurred to her. "Sherlock, have you... have you ever been..." She took a deep breath. _I can do this. I can ask him this small thing._ "Have you ever had a girlfriend before?"

Sherlock scoffed, "Girlfriend," he said with mockery and scorn. "Never. And the correct phrasing of the question would have been, 'Have you ever have a girlfriend' Question mark. There is no 'before.' Especially since I don't plan on having a girlfriend in the future."

It took everything Molly had in her not to respond in an astonished gasp. _This wasn't a date. I'm so stupid,_ Molly mentally berated herself. The two sat in silence for another few minutes since Molly was honestly unsure of where to go from there. Their food arrived, and they each started steadily dug in to it. Sherlock into his marinara covered pasta, and Molly into her soup and salad.

Sherlock took up the mantle. "And while I could easily deduce the answer, the polite thing I suppose is to . . . ask. Have you?"

Molly nodded slightly. "In school, I had a crush on a lab partner. When we got to university, he finally took notice of me. We dated for about a year, and then he proposed. He died a month after I said yes." Molly's mind filled with scenes of laughter and joy, and then it turned mournful as she pictured the funeral and the last day she wore his ring.

* * *

Sherlock was fuming. _How had this conversation gone so wrong? Mary attempted to instruct on how I should be acting, yet here Molly is bringing up her lost love. She derails all my plans!_

Sherlock tried to get himself back under control. _The worst thing is trying to compete with a memory, a ghost._ However, Sherlock shook himself. _I'm not competing with anyone for anything. Well, except maybe Mycroft._ Sherlock mentally shook himself again _, not the time! What do caring people usually say in these situations?_

"I...I'm sorry, Molly."

Molly's beautiful, yet sorrowful smile met his intense gaze. "It's alright, Sherlock. It was a long time ago."

Another long pause settled over the pair as they continued with their food. Distractedly picking at his barely-eaten pasta, Sherlock nodded. "Did that experience provide you with prior experience regarding our . . . situation?" Molly's confusion was plain on her face. Sherlock cleared his throat. He needed to know her history. "What happened the other night. I presume it was not your first time?"

Comprehension flooded Molly's chocolate eyes. "Oh," a light dusting of pink on her porcelain cheeks mesmerized Sherlock. "Umm, well, Tom, my fiance and I were together for a while, Sherlock. So, no. It was not my first time."

Sherlock Hmmed as their food was disappearing steadily. The swirling tightness in his belly almost chocked his logical mind. "And how did it compare?" He made sure to keep a stoic countenance as he asked the testy question.

Confusion once more took over Molly. "Compare? With Tom?"

Sherlock sneered, still looking at his plate. "Yes, Tom."

Molly stuttered, "W-well, it was different."

At this Sherlock looked at her emotion-filled face. It was like reading a book on Molly's emotions. Everything laid out so clearly for Sherlock to read. She was surprised, most certainly at his interest, but also worried at why he would be dragging through old memories. Old, painful memories. Sherlock understood this.

Trying to be slightly more gentle, he asked softly, shining with pure curiosity, "How so?"

Molly again stuttered. "W-we were in love, Sherlock. So, even if it was a bad experience, it was just about being together, being intimate, in any capacity. So, it was always good."

"How can I help make it always good for you, Molly?" Sherlock asked earnestly, hoping to finally dissemble the mystery that was his interactions with his little mate.

Molly smiled sadly, "Oh Sherlock. It's not . . . I- I mean, it's me, Sherlock. It's not you; it's me."

While her words were relief-inducing for Sherlock, her tone indicated sadness and regret. Sherlock remained dumbfounded in his mental attempt to reconcile the two as they climbed in the cab and rode the way back to 221B in silence.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

A/N: Ok, I realize that some of you may be wondering what the heck is going on with my characterizations. Ok, so here it is. Sherlock is not perfect. I see him as kind of a duffus in the emotional sense, so when he tries to translate emotions, it doesn't go so well. Because of this, his true meaning is lost, and so Molly is not getting what he is trying to say. She's fluent in both science speak and emotions, which is why I think they will go well together. However, in order to GET together, they have to be on the same page. Last chapter was them NOT being on the same page. Plus, every story needs conflict.

OK, end of rant. Hope it helps.

Change in perspective chapter! Yay! R & R

* * *

It was one of her rare days off, and Molly sat on the couch, staring at Sherlock. She sighed, heavily. "What is it you want, then?"

The romance novel she had been reading sunk onto her pajama-covered lap. She had just given in to his incessant staring and appeared exhausted with Sherlock's antics.

"No. Molly. The . . . _problem_ is what you want." His hands were steeple-ed and his eyes were intense, curious.

Molly scoffed, affronted. "And, what is it that I want?"

It was Sherlock's turn to heave a sigh of frustration. "Exactly?!" He pronounced, jumping from the couch to pace in front of the woman.

Mrs. Hudson chuckled under her breath as she poured tea for the dears. _Poor Sherlock. Poor Molly. It's obvious what she wants, look at how many love stories she owns and watches! Pride and Prejudice, Downton Abbey, and Nicholas Sparks books all adorn her room! Sherlock can be so blind when it comes to certain things._ Mrs. Hudson bit back her smile as she handed Molly her teacup. _Lots of cream, one sugar._

Sherlock's pacing almost caused him to run into the old woman. "Mrs. Hudson!" He reprimanded.

"Sherlock Holmes!" She retorted, reflecting his outraged tone. "Now, stop badgering the poor girl, and let her enjoy her romance." Mrs. Hudson held out a pointed finger to the poor lad. _Let us pray he hears my hint._ Mentally, she winked at her own wit.

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically as he flopped into his forest-green leather chair. "Romance, Pfft." He scoffed under his breath.

Molly, who had just resumed her book, turned to him. "And what is wrong with a little romance, Sherlock? It makes life more exciting!"

Sherlock didn't even deign to open his eyes at her argument. "It makes like more miserable, Molly. Half of your characters in that pathetic novel are moping about the majority of the book. How is that romance or excitement? I'll tell you. It isn't."

Molly furiously set her book aside and stood facing the detective's nearly prone form. "Sherlock," she started seriously, lowering her voice. "It is like the moments before a kiss." She breathed deeply to get herself under control, haunting memories threatening her. "Not knowing exactly how everything will play out heightens the anticipation. Hence, excitement."

"Molly," at this, Sherlock opened one eye. "A kiss is not exciting alone, much less with artificial hesitancy."

Mrs. Hudson's heart went out to the poor girl. She could see how Sherlock's words wounded her. Molly blinked a few times, clenching and un-clenching her fists.

"Fine, then," she said as she gathered her book and headed to her room. Sherlock's next words stopped her.

"We are repeating our required activities tonight, Molly. Ten o'clock."

Molly's frustrated groan made Mrs. Hudson's eyes pop. _How much emotion one little woman held_. She turned back to Sherlock, handing him his tea. _Two sugars. No cream_. "Sherlock, your little domestic has gone on long enough. It's been about a week of avoiding each other, you know. Molly is your mate now. You need to make a decision."

Sherlock opened both eyes to glare at the housekeeper/landlady. "Mrs. Hudson, she has been avoiding me. I've been on a case." He turned to look out the window. Glaring back at her in confusion, he said, "What decision is it that _I_ need to make?"

Mrs. Hudson shook her head slowly. "Sherlock, dear. You need to figure out if you are going to love her or not. Or even try to fall in love. Most mates _are_ married, you know. It's odd that you two haven't even gone on a date to try it out."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, marriage. A poor attempt at the BURA to manufacture stable and long-standing families." A long sigh later and Sherlock stood. "You are right, Mrs. Hudson. I may have underestimated Molly's expectations in regards to this arrangement."

* * *

Greg Lestrade winked at the redhead across the pub. This particular pub was populated by mostly men and infertile females, and the area was known as a place to just have fun. It was loud and smelled like cheap beer. Lestrade felt like he fit right in.

Greg flashed the woman his pearly whites, knowing that was the usual final hook. She smiled back and scooted off her stool. Slipping into the small space left next to Lestrade, the 30-year old woman lifted his now-flat bottle and drank. The coy look in her eyes belonged in that pub like a picture in a frame.

"What's your name?" She asked over the crowd's cheering at the football on the telly.

"Geoff," Greg said with an ease that came from years of practice in pubs. "You?"

"Michelle," she said. "You want to get out of here?"

Lestrade chuckled. Many ladies had a thing for the silver fox look and while he didn't usually deny them, he was here for a different reason than usual. "You move fast. How about we just find a quiet place to talk?"

She pursed her luscious lips as she squinted in examination of his person. After a quick up and down glance, she smiled again and gestured with her head to the back exit of the place. Lestrade knew it led to a dark alley, which would be perfect for his purposes. Especially since he knew Sherlock was lurking around here. Somewhere.

They pushed through the people and the exit smoothly.

"What did you want to talk about?" the redhead asked, her hair looking like a dark brunette in the shadows.

Lestrade sighed. "Michelle. Michelle Richy. You dated Dr. Adam Zeigler for a while before the plague. We found him dead about a week ago." At this point Greg took out his badge and flashed it in the moonlight. "What can you tell us about his hidden projects?"

"Us?"

Sherlock, as if summoned, popped out from behind the nearest dumpster. "Us. Now, Michelle. You broke up with him, seeing as how many of your trinkets were still in his apartment at his death, a good few years after the official ending of the relationship. Also, based on your reaction to his name, you felt pity but no strong personal connection to him. Also, you and he talked a lot about your projects since your minored with a degree in biomedical sciences, which was essentially the field he was breaking into at the time of your relationship. This is true considering the level of notes written in the margins of many of the books he kept from your classes. Now, I will repeat the question. What secret biological-development project was he working on?"

Michelle rolled her eyes, recognizing her lost efforts with the detective. She sighed and fixed her hair. "All I know is that is had something to do with genetic alterations in the womb. He wanted to talk about how to test children in partial development for later developmental factors. That's all. Oh, and he was working for some woman."

Lestrade and Sherlock stood at attention. " _Some_ woman?" Sherlock sneered.

The redhead shook her head affirmatively. "Yeah, Adam called her all the time, right before bed. At first, I thought he was cheating, but then he told me it was his boss who was always busy during the day. The only time they could talk was at night."

Sherlock's eyes glazed over at he processed this information. Turning back to the beautiful woman in a vibrant teal cocktail dress, Greg said, "Thanks, Michelle. You've been a big help." Smiling his usual flirtatious smirk, he continued, "Could I have your number . . . in case we need to ask any more questions?"

Michelle's eyes flashed victoriously. "Well, detective inspector. I'm free all night. We could just come back to my apartment for more _questions_."

Sherlock dramatically rolled his eyes. "Oh, please George. Stop this ridiculous dance and just leave."

Michelle turned to Greg. "George? I thought you said your name was Geoff. Were you lying about that too?"

Greg laughed. "No, well. Not when Sherlock's around." He pointed to the spot where the man had just been. "With him, I'm Geoff, George and Galvin."

The woman joined him in the teasing. "Well, what's your real name then? Mr. Mysterious?"

Greg eyed the sexy woman. Smirking and grabbing her hand, he said, "Name's Greg. Greg Lestrade."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

A/N: OMG! I am SO sorry! I decided to start wrapping it up! So, there are a number of BIG reveals in this chapter! Hope that it makes up for my ridiculousness! Any requests/predictions for the end?

* * *

Molly's hand was shaking. Taking a forceful breath, she told put down the scalpel in her hand. _Stop it. There's no reason to be nervous. Tonight Sherlock and I will have sex again. It will be fine. Just like last time. In fact, he's going to treat it like an experiment, clinically. Yes, that's how I should treat it too_. Forcing another deep breath, Molly returned her attention to the body before her.

The sound of a loud bang caused Molly to loose her grip on her shining scalpel. With a small squeak, Molly jumped back from where the knife dropped.

Turning in surprise, Molly found the object of her thoughts calmly evaluating her. "Sherlock," Molly whispered.

"Yes, Molly, hello," Sherlock stonily replied.

Molly reminded herself to breathe. She took in Sherlock's slightly wet locks, shining in the fluorescent lights, and his sparkling aquamarine eyes. His feet seemed to shuffle along the linoleum flooring.

Molly took a moment to bask in the awkward silence. Taking the mantle of the conversation, Molly asked, "What can I do for you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock sucked in a breath before saying, "Many things, Molly Hooper." He cleared his throat. "However, for now, I would appreciate a data analysis on this sample," at which the man held up a small ziplock baggie. Inside the baggie was one of Sherlock's pens. As Molly looked closer, she noticed the pen had a dark lipstick stain in the middle of the pen.

 _Deep breaths, Molly,_ she told herself. N _o need to be curious or hurt that Sherlock has a pen a woman stuck in her mouth. A woman with seductive lips._ Making a small "hmm", Molly nodded demurely and took the item from Sherlock.

They spent the next two hours with eyes glued to machines and samples in order to determine the exact make up of the .. well, make-up.

"The lipstick seems to be a specifically designed brand. Not sold in any common shop," Molly concluded when comparing the sample to others.

Sherlock closed his eyes, putting his hands together in his thinking pose. Molly admired him from her seat next to him. Smelling the detective, being near him for hours was like being overwhelmed with an intoxicating incense. One that pushed her thinking and punished her heart.

Suddenly, he said, "Brilliant!" Standing, he leaned over Molly's shorter, sitting, stature and kissed her on her forehead. Both utterly shocked by his actions, each remained still.

Sherlock, clearing his throat once more, rushed out of the lab.

Molly looked around the recently vacated space with bewilderment. _What in the world has gotten into him?_ she pondered.

* * *

Mycroft examined the beauty standing before him.

Her full red lips, her shadowed eyes, and her deep purple off the shoulder dress gave her an air of professional mystery and feminine sophistication that nearly made his heart stutter.

This was why he hired her in the first place, yes. But, the added element of deadly accuracy with regard to her objectives and focus was why he kept her.

"Anthea."

"Mycroft."

Sighing slightly, he began again, "Anthea, this is untoward. Who are you working for?"

Anthea's mischievous glee in her eyes seeped into a small smile. "My employer wishes to remain anonymous. I merely decided to update you on the current issue. That has no bearing on my employment decisions."

Returning his gaze to the boring chipped wooden wall, Mycroft probed, "And what aid could I be in here?"

Anthea's smile grew. "Mycroft, we both know your mind is absolutely biting for some form of entertainment. Think of this as my attempt to entertain you."

Mycroft;s eyes narrowed in suspicion as he turned back to his PA. "Ah, so, an associate has gone rogue, and you need to decide how to get him back on track before your employer finds out. My working with you for so many years, Anthea, has betrayed you."

Her smile disappeared completely as she nodded slowly in affirmation.

"Well, what kind of agent is this? What are the most effective methods to control him?" With no response, Mycroft glared at his assistant in shock and slight outrage. "You hired on an agent without knowing his weaknesses? Anthea, this is quite unlike you."

The women lowered his eyes in shame. "It was a quickly needed decision. There was no time."

"Who is this agent you hired?"

Anthea's chocolate brown eyes met with his nearly in tears. "I'm sorry, Mycroft."

* * *

Sherlock looked at his mate.

 _Beautiful_.

She was lying naked on his bed, panting heavily. They had just finished their nightly activity and as Sherlock's brain was restarting, he was viciously trying to figure out a way to convince Molly to stay.

He believed the outcome of this trial run was met with much more success than the first. Indeed, he heard Molly cry out, "Oh, God!" at least twelve times, and she moaned his name more times than he could count. Well, at least he did count until his own pleasure consumed him, causing him to lose the number. Now, he lay prostrate on the silken sheets as he stared at his mate. He was thankful for the warm night as there was no need for the bed coverings. He could admire Molly in all her glory, shining with a thin layer of sweat and smelling of their joint activities. It unwittingly gave Sherlock a sense of pride to see her so laid bare and enjoying herself.

She slowly turned to look at him. She seemed utterly exhausted.

"Give Mary my compliments," she said slyly, showing she knew Sherlock had conferred with her friend.

"Indeed," Sherlock sighed. He fought the blush on his cheeks, still embarrassed at having to ask for help. Sherlock was thankful for the dark of night as he believed his pink was hidden. Clearing his throat, he began, "Molly, since the result of our copulation has indeed been much more enjoyable this time round, I believe it would be much more prudent for you to remain as you are, in order to better provide future opportunities tonight for similar ventures."

Molly blinked a few times. Sherlock could tell she was mentally sorting through his speech.

Gently, softly, just as she was, she stated, "You, want me... to stay here. In case, i-in case you want another round?"

The squinting of her eyes and her vocal inflection made her appear just one word to Sherlock.

 _Adorable_.

Ruffling his hair with one hand, he confidently stated, "Yes."

Molly smiled with one corner of her mouth."Ok," she whispered into the darkness. Leaning over his torso, she gave him one small peck. Compared with their previous kisses, Sherlock could only describe the sensation as _Sweet_.

* * *

Mycroft could not believe his ears. Roaring, he stood and crossed the room. "How could you, Anthea!? This is ridiculous?! How could you trust _her_? Who could you possibly be working for that would want you to hire her?"

Anthea's own sense of indignity and rage caused her to stand and meet the politician halfway. "It was not my employer's decision. It was mine, Mycroft. She was in the best position to get done what was needed. Now all that power has gone to her head. I've worked with her before, I know how she is."

Mycroft was dearly tempted to roll his eyes at his PA. "Working with someone doesn't give you the ultimate insight into that person's behaviour. You should have done more research, Anthea. Or better yet, asked me! Asked me before you brought me to this god-forsaken hovel." He gestured to the scare furniture in his imprisonment.

Anthea sighed, gently placing her hands on Mycroft's fine silk shirt. "Mycroft. Don't you think my decisions are generally well-founded? I chose you as my mate, didn't I?" She smiled coyly, remembering the moment.

Mycroft did roll his eyes at that point. "That has nothing to do with this, Anthea." He placed his hands on top of her manicured ones. Sighing, he asked, "Do you trust _her_? This agent of yours?"

She nodded in response. Releasing her, Mycroft sat once more in his chair. "I doubt I could ever trust her.

.

.

.

The woman.

Irene. Irene Adler."


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

A/N: A little bit of review in terms of MURDER! Going to be one more chapter to wrap up everything..

* * *

Anthea Scott shuffled through a series of laboratory work. The papers scattered along the long wooden kitchen table of the country house reminded Anthea of winter scenery.

She was attempting to piece together the reasoning behind Irene's diversion from the plan - the plan to disintegrate the BURA.

It appeared that only after investigating the death of the Mr. and Mrs. Rush did Irene cease communications.

Irene was perfect at playing the part of ally for Sherlock's search for Mycroft. However, at the end of the day, Irene always had her own objectives to fulfill. Now, that fact has turned and bitten Anthea in the arse.

Anthea had known of Mr. Zeigler's work generally, but he had no connections to the Rushes, as far as Anthea knew.

 _There was a puzzle piece missing, I'm sure of it,_ Anthea pondered. _Oh how I wished my employer allowed Mycroft to work beside me. Mycroft's scheming mind was highly skilled at finding and solving such riddles._

She sighed once more, certain Mycroft could sense her frustration. She hacked onto the detective inspector Lestrade's computer to determine their progress in the homicide cases. _Hmm._ S _herlock is farther along than I believed. He and his little mate found the rash that appeared on Mrs. Rush to be an allergic reaction to an injection she was given by Dr. Zeigler. The doctor was assassinated, most likely for his work with fertilization._

 _Fertilization._ Anthea looked up in shock. That was the key. It all led back to the face behind the BURA. Anthea smirked. Her employer was about to be very happy.

* * *

Sherlock was not very happy. He looked at the couch longingly. Upon it sat his petite mate, reading, once more. He loved her rabid thirst for information, but the subject itself hit him in the gut. A pregnancy/parenting book.

After waking up in complete bliss this morning, Sherlock was disappointed to see his brunette pathologist scurry up to her room. He loved the natural, lemony scent of her hair as it fell across his chest. He closed his eyes as he remembered the soft and sweet touches of his mate's small hand on his chest.

Now, it was back to reality. The reality of the purpose of their coupling. A BURA inspector was sure to arrive very soon by Sherlock's calculations, and in the back of his mind, Sherlock itched at the lack of progress for finding his brother.

This irritation easily bled into his interactions with others. Hence, why Molly was sitting on the couch, as far away from him as possible, and reading.

The morning conversation had not gone well for Sherlock.

He merely started the conversation with, "You must get accustomed to sleeping in my bed, Molly. Most likely, any fruit of your loins will use your current bedroom, so as not to disturb my work. You will need to move your things from there, post-haste."

Silence reigned as Molly processed his conclusion. "You decided that all on your own then?" She returned testily.

Nodded and rolling his eyes, "Yes, of course, Molly. Any idiot can deduce that."

With a scoff from Molly, she plopped on the couch with her book.

No words have been exchanged since. He had paced. He had played his violin. Nothing disturbed her intensive study. Now, Sherlock was bored. And he didn't have a gun.

Sherlock debated texting Mary for assistance or not. After another moment of thought, Sherlock flipped out his phone to text a different associate.

 _Help. Molly exhibiting signs of frustration at something. Unable to detect reason behind her angered silence,_ it read.

* * *

John looked down at his phone at the newest text. It was from Sherlock.

He quietly chuckled at the confusion lying underneath the words. John snuck a glance at his lovely wife and mate, sleeping in the bed next to him. He smiled at her beautiful face in rest.

John really didn't want to move, and if he could've, he would have groaned, with vehemence. Instead, the husband stood slowly and gathered his things to head to Sherlock's.

Upon arriving, he saw Molly burst out of the flat.

"Molly, is everything ok? What's happened?" he questioned the young mate.

She huffed, pointing to the second floor window. "That man is the most arrogant.. most insufferable.. errrg!"

John smiled slightly, hoping not to anger the woman more. "Oh dear, you really love'em, don't you Molly?"

Her entire body froze. She took a deep breath, and with shock in her eyes, she turned fully to John. "L-l-love? I. John, I-I I don't know."

John's grin grew. "Hmm, well, Molly. I know Sherlock sure cares for you."

Molly gasped softly, "What?"

John tilted his head slightly in confusion. "Mary didn't tell you? Sherlock's come to our place a few times to ask questions on how to take care of you, Molly. He's been asking for help. And from what I've seen of him, he's too arrogant to ask for help unless he's really worried. Unless he really cares."

"A f-few times?"

"Yeah, Molly. He's been really taking note of how we've been preparing for the baby. He's, well, Sherlock's trying. He really is."

Molly looked at her feet. "He's trying." After another deep breath, Molly held her head up high. "John, go back to your pregnant wife. I'm going to talk to Sherlock. If he's trying, then I can too."

With a slight smile and wave, John set off to retrace his steps. _Good thing to know I can help,_ he thought to himself with a warm chuckle.

 _Try not to be an arrogant prat,_ John texted back to Sherlock.

* * *

Anthea looked at her employer with uncertainty.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" She asked.

Her employer nodded slowly. "We need his help. I cannot hide from him any longer."

Anthea shook her head in resignation. "As you wish. However, I doubt he will be very happy with this development, knowing who has been secretly scheming against his wishes."

Her employer remained stoic in the face of Anthea's worries.

"Open the door."

Anthea walked down the hallway to Mycroft's room. Slowly, she opened it, giving him a warning.

"Mycroft, my employer would like to speak with you, personally. She is waiting in the kitchen. From this point on, you are free to leave if you desire, but I must warn you. The reason why you were effectively stolen from your position in government was not for your influence. Rather it was for your safety."

Mycroft "hhmmed" in disbelief.

"Mycroft, if those who we recently discovered are behind BURA were to know of your location, then you would've become under their control. If you refused to cooperate with them, as I imagine you would've, they would've taken you out." Anthea paused for effect. "I've seen them do it. They are planning something big. A complete take-over of Parliament, and you were in their way."

She begged him with her eyes to read the truth in her statement. Trust between mates was vital to a longstanding relationship.

Mycroft's quiet evaluation of her was proof that if, nothing else, Anthea believed the truth of the statement. He nodded in affirmation. "I understand. I will maintain my place here until the issue is resolved. And I will do what I can."

Anthea nodded back to him, understanding the reason for his vague statement. She moved out of the doorway, to allow him access to her employer's presence.

He walked slowly in front of Anthea's clacking heels on the wood floors. A small gasp emanated from his person as he saw who exactly sat in one of the wooden chairs.

Anthea spoke up, "Mycroft, meet my employer and your mother. Viola, Viola Holmes."


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1.

A/N: This is the last chapter! OMG! It's over! Longest yet! Please let me know if any of you lovely readers have any prompts/joint projects you would like to work on!

* * *

Molly smiled as she saw Sherlock pick up his violin one more time. _He's nervous._ She almost chuckled to herself. She looked down at the pregnancy test on the coffee table. _Nothing yet._

She sighed as she picked up her book once more.

A knock at the door was answered by Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock set his violin down as they heard strong solid footsteps up the stairwell. Molly adjusted herself towards to doorway. Molly's heart was a wild drum set vibrating her rib-cage to pieces. She felt out of control of her own body, what with first being around Sherlock and now this BURA inspector, her body was a xylophone playing a discordant tune.

She gazed upon a handsome face. His dark, slicked back hair and bright brown eyes complemented his lighter complexion. His lilting voice was sugary sweet and high pitched like a flute.

"Molly and Sherlock Holmes?" He clarified, looking at the two of them.

Molly set down her book on the table next to the thin white plastic test. Standing she smiled and nodded. "Y-yes, My name is Molly Hooper. Who are you?" She could hear her voice wavering with her nerves.

"Oh, silly meee," he drew out. "The name is Richard, lovely to meet you both. I'm your BURA inspector." He stuck out his long hand, and Molly shook it gently.

Sherlock merely nodded his head in recognition of the gesture. Molly's brows drew together inslight confusion of Sherlock's stand-offish attitude. Shaking herself, she refocused her attentions.

"Well, uh, Richard, what exactly do these inspections consist of?" She stated, trying her hardest not to stutter.

He twirled on one foot as he took in the details of the sitting room. "Oh, this and that. Mostly just to make sure you are actually living and breathing here. With Sherlock."

Molly saw Sherlock's adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Hearing his beep that indicated a text, Sherlock drew out his phone. Molly looked over to see the caller was someone named "Anthea."

She forced herself to take a deep breath. It could be anything.

"So Miss Molly, how o you like it? Being Sherlock's mate? Is he an animal in bed? Like a tiger?" The teasing voice caused Molly's cheek to dust with pink.

"Excuse me for a moment," Sherlock said, before pressing on his phone to call someone and locking himself in his bedroom.

"Oh, so that's a 'no,' then?" Richard asked, his tone disappointed.

"W-well, is that part of the inspection, because my friend Mary didn't say her first inspection really consisted of details of the bedroom."

He laughed lightly as he walked like a predator towards the only one left in the room. Molly's heart started to beat, not with nerves, but with fright. The glint in the inspector's eyes hinted at a subdued madness that Molly really didn't want to know.

"That's because I'm a different kind of inspector," he growled.

* * *

Mycroft was furious. His mother and his mate both betrayed him, and for what? To set Sherlock up as bait to the highest order of the BURA?

And now, now Sherlock was in the swamp of it, without any clue as to what was hiding in the trees.

Mycroft nearly raised his voice at his little brother on the phone.

"Sherlock, you don't understand. At the time, I had little sway over the votes, and the fear of people was so strong. It was impossible to stop the forming of the BURA, but now, society had normalized. There is no need for it anymore. In fact, Dr. Zeigler was on to a cure for the original plague. Irene found out about his work before I did, and killed him before he had a chance to explain anything. Obviously."

"Yes, but what has that got to do with me?" Sherlock petulantly asked, _like teenager._

"Sherlock, whoever is behind the BURA was in league with Irene. Thus, knows of what's happened to you. Your mate situation. You are under his or her control now. Your flat will be given access to whoever is going to inspect it and so on. You need to take extra precautions. Be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. You are the next target."

"We already have an inspector, in the flat. He's obviously been diagnosed as a psychopath, and attempted treatment. Believes he's cured." Sherlock scoffed. "As if. However, I detected no weapons on his person, so I did not identify him as a threat."

Mycroft nearly groaned in frustration. "Idiot! If he's a psychopath, he very well could be the one in charge. Playing with people's lives, need for control of chaos, and egomania. Sound familiar?"

Sherlock's gasp nearly broke Mycroft's resolve. "Go out there and protect your mate. Anthea will contact Lestrade for your backup."

"Moriarty, in the flesh," Sherlock whispered just before he hung up.

 _Indeed Sherlock,_ Mycroft mentally commented _, your shadowy nemesis is finally in your sights, in your flat with your mate. And where are you? Catching up with your kidnapped brother. Keep her safe, Brother. Keep her close._

* * *

Sherlock nearly kicked his door open and barreled through the flat. However, he knew that he had been gone long enough for Moriarty to take precautions against Sherlock killing him. Mostly likely precautions involving his mate, Molly.

He opened the door casually, just as he would on any other occasion. Forcing down his nerves and fears, he pushed his mind to think. _Twenty minutes til Lestrade will arrive, if Anthea has already contacted the detective inspector. He will mostly likely have Molly in a physically precarious position, so best to proceed with caution. If possible, get her down the stairwell while notifying Mrs. Hudson. If Mrs. Hudson is still alright. Most likely unharmed or restrained seeing as he had little time to proceed up the stairs after his knock. She will most likely be emotionally unstable, but that must be taken care of after Moriarty is restrained. Handcuffs won't do. Best to knock unconscious._

He walked into the siting room with even steps.

Molly sat down on the couch, mouth gagged, and a knife held to her throat. Her hands and feet were tied up with a rope Sherlock had set down in a nearby chair for an experiment. Moriarty, aka Richard _\- Sherlock mentally scoffed-_ was standing in front of the furniture, reading the parenting book of Molly's.

"A baby needs the care and love of both it's parents for it to succeed in life," Moriarty read. "What rubbish," he scoffed and tossed the book near the fireplace. "A parent need only transfer the right genes to its children for it to succeed." He grin grew feral. "Look at me! No love from one parent and no other parent, and I turned out just fine."

"Indeed, above average IQ, propensity for grand scale manipulation, and understanding of large country economics. Too bad you can't claim any sort of human compassion or empathy to go along with that." Sherlock echoed the man's light-hearted and teasing tone in an effort to stall and think of a solution.

"Well, who needs it? Humans, they're really just toys or cattle. Make more little humans and what've you got? Society, civilization, ha _family?_ No." Moriarty twisted the knife slightly on Molly' smooth neck.

The clues finally clicked in Sherlock's brain. "No, you've got an army. That's what all this was about, wasn't it? You wanted to create your own army to someday take control of... what? Britain? Europe? The world?"

Moriarty tilted his head slightly as he examined Sherlock. I've already got people in the school systems. Give it a few years in waiting, gathering supplies, and then no one will see it coming. Well, except you and your big brother, of course." The crazy man tsked. "Too bad. Your child was going to be my second in command. Imagine. A child who brain was so vast as to include both how to calculate people's actions and understand their emotions." He removed the knife from Molly's throat and pointed at him. "That's your fault, Sherlock. Your only one. You recognize that the emotions are there, but you don't understand how they work."

Sherlock nearly shook with anger. He was a high functioning sociopath. He may not sympathize with others, but that did not mean he himself couldn't feel. He had the full emotional spectrum, but he was more than his base emotions. He could control himself. Apparently Molly could too, because at the end of Moriarty's monologue, Molly surged forward and tackled the intruder tot he ground. Sherlock shot down to their level to protect his little mate. He grabbed the knife that had fallen from the criminal's hands and threw it to the farthermost wall. He grabbed Moriarty's squirming hands and banged the little man's body against the hardwood floor. His slippery head hit the wood and was knocked unconscious.

Sherlock sighed in relief as he went to take care of his mate. Her pupils were dilated and her heart was racing. He untied her extremities and placed her back on the sofa. "Molly, Molly. Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, voice laced with unabashed concern.

"Sherlock. Did I really just do that?" Her gentle bewildered tone made the man sigh in relief.

His rich chuckle filled the silent room. "Yes, Molly. My brave and beautiful little mate, you did."

Molly smiled at Sherlock, causing his heart to swell with warmth. Her chocolate eyes swirled with gold flecks as she gazed at him in wonder. He grinned at her shocked state. Looking down, he realized the table had been pushed slightly during Molly's attack. The pregnancy test had fallen to the floor by Sherlock's feet. He hesitantly picked up the small white piece of plastic.

Stunned, he could barely breathe.

Molly leaned over to look at the words that had appeared during the chaos. _Pregnant_ , it read. The word reverberated around Sherlock's frozen mind palace. _Pregnant. Mummy. Daddy. He was going to be a father._

"Molly, would you..." He started, a bit unsure how to finish. "Like to..."

"Grab take-away?" She asked softly, understanding his need for normalcy after a day like today. Sherlock looked at her. Really looked at her. She understood him. Her quiet reassurance and gentle sympathy filled his life perfectly. He loved watching her read, expanding her own mind. He loved to watch her work, using the knowledge she had. He loved her silly wit and her mismatched socks. He loved... her.

He shook his head in the negative. "Molly."

"Sherlock." She smiled a bit silly at him.

Sherlock smiled a bit back. "How would you like to be my Molly, Molly _Holmes_?"


	17. Epilogue

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

A/N: Ok, I reread this for like the fifth time and realized, yeah I guess there is no resolution here. Yikes! Ok, for all of you wondering here is how things went down in my head. Also, I know, I know. Not very original to have the bad guy as the bad guy, but hopefully I dressed it up enough to make it interesting.

* * *

Sherlock setlled into his leather chair, feet spread wide. He caught himself smiling generously as his fiancé entered the space.

"Molly, what did your mother say?"

The cinnamon haired woman rubbed her stomach as she returned his smile. "She said it was normal. I know you read all those books and research, Sherlock, but I just wanted to be sure."

The two sighed with relief and pleasure as Molly slipped onto his lap. Wrapping his long arms around her, he gloried in the feeling of surrounding her. Her lovely scent, her sweet giggles, and her soft pink mouth were all before him for his enjoyment.

Molly suddenly turned to him, "Wait, Sherlock! Did you ever figure out who was behind snatching Mycroft or why?"

Sherlock would've rolled his eyes had any other mortal asked the question. Instead he gave a michevious grin, explaining, "Really, Molly. It was all quite simple. Irene."

"Irene? The one working with you?"

"No, she never was working with me. She only allowed it for a time. Just like the doctor. I deduced he was helping Irene and Moriarty's organization start and then manipulate the BURA once the plague had reached uncontrollable limits. Then the good doctor attempted to find a cure instead."

"Mr. And Mrs. Rush," Molly breathed.

Sherlock nodded. "Indeed. An attempt gone wrong, hence the rash. Because Irene and her associate discovered the failed attempt, they took out the doctor." He leaned in for a kiss, when Molly placed her hand haltingly on his chest.

Molly shook her head. "But how does this all relate to Mycroft?"

Sherlock waved his hand about as if to shoo a fly. "Oh, Mycroft was the only thing standing in their way no doubt, which was the reason behind the death threats he received when the BURA began, but it was all Anthea's fault."

Molly's eyebrows came together in preparation of a stern defense of her newfound friend.

"No, don't misunderstand, Anthea had all good intentions. She and my Mummy intended to use Miss Adler as a spy on me and the BURA. With Mycroft out of the way, it was allowed to flourish and flush out those working behind it. However, the Woman ended up betraying them, putting Mycroft and I at even greater risk. Thus older brother was let out to discover all this information, some of which he already had an incling. At that point Moriarty attacked us, and that's when Scotland Yard's people came in to take him away. Understand?"

Molly nodded. Her gaze turned to the richly carpeted ground. "I suppose so, but it's all very complicated though, isn't it?"

Sherlock hummed an agreement as their lips finally met.

* * *

John Morstan was tired. While he loved spending time and energy looking after Sherlock Holmes and his interesting cases, he had a new little one for which he needed to expend energy. She was about four months old now, and her curly blonde hair made her a wonder in her parents' eyes.

Elizabeth Morstan was the perfect combination of the two adults, and she proved it each day. John shook himself from his awe at his child as his phone went crazy. He picked it up. The information barely registered. Molly was having her baby.

John called out to Mary, who came rushing down the stairs. Together they took a cab to speed to the hospital.

As they entered the room, John saw a rare sight. Sherlock's wild curls were stringy and wet with sweat. Mollys state was the same. Each had on the largest smiles John's ever seen as they looked lovingly down up a little alien like face. A head of short dark hairs poked out between the swaddling blankets. Sherlock'large hand had wrapping itself around Molly's and the back of the child.

Molly turned to them as they sat down in adjacent chairs and gently said,

"Meet . . ."


End file.
